


There and Back Again: The Fellowship Goes to Stalag 13

by San Antonio Rose (ramblin_rosie)



Series: Crossed Swords Alternate Multiverse [2]
Category: Hogan's Heroes (TV 1965), Newsies (1992), The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - World War II, Awards: The Papa Bear Awards, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-02-10
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:35:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 38,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27486640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ramblin_rosie/pseuds/San%20Antonio%20Rose
Summary: A funny thing happened on the way through the mines, and WWII will never be the same.... (Nominated for the 2004 Middle-earth Fanfiction Awards and the 2004 Papa Bear Awards!)
Series: Crossed Swords Alternate Multiverse [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2008447
Comments: 4
Kudos: 5





	1. A funny thing happened on the way through the mines....

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea why this isn't backdating properly--sorry if there's any confusion. It's an old story; I'm just new on this site.

“This way,” a strong but elderly voice echoed through the long-vacant passageway of Khâzad-dûm. Nine pairs of feet plodded on through the gloom, led only by the white glow of the tip of Gandalf’s staff. They went as quietly and cautiously as possible, knowing that orcs and goblins lurked somewhere in the darkness. None of them really relished the thought of going through Moria, but it was better than being killed by an avalanche on a hostile mountain.

Unfortunately, not even Gandalf saw the gaping hole in the floor until it was too late. He fell in first; the others, now having no light at all, were unable to see and thus avoid the hole. As a unit, the Fellowship of the Ring found itself hurtling through space… and time.

* * *

Col. Robert Hogan and Cpl. Louis LeBeau looked up sharply as a loud crash echoed through the emergency tunnel. At first Hogan thought Carter had dropped a box of nitro; his fears in that direction were allayed when he heard voices and scuffling coming from the direction of the noise, including Newkirk’s voice swearing heartily.

“Gerroff!” Newkirk finally shouted. “I can’t breathe wi’ you sittin’ on me chest!”

“I beg your pardon,” replied a baritone that sounded English and yet… somehow different.

“Hi, Pip, you all right?” called another voice.

“Oof! Mind yer elbow, Gimli!”

“My apologies, Pippin… Legolas? Are you here?”

“Aye… Boromir, could you…”

“What? Oh, sorry.”

“’As anyone seen Master Frodo?”

“’E’s over ’ere, Sam, bu’ i’ looks like ’e ’it ’is ’ead on somethin’…”

“Gandalf, do you have any idea where we are?”

“Not the least, Aragorn, but it does not look like Moria.”

“Golly, Newkirk, are you… what… who…” Carter’s voice trailed off in incoherence.

Kinch poked his head around the corner. “Colonel, I think you oughta see this…”

Hogan and LeBeau left the map table and followed Kinch to the site of the commotion. When they got there, Hogan’s jaw dropped and LeBeau involuntarily crossed himself.

There, in their very own tunnel, was the strangest assortment of characters they had ever seen. Newkirk stood glaring at a very tall elderly man with a huge pointed hat, long grey hair and a beard, flowing grey robes, and a gnarled staff that was as tall as he was; presumably this was the person who had been sitting on Newkirk’s chest. Next to him stood a younger raven-haired man with an air of royalty about him; he seemed like a character out of the Arthurian legend, as did the sandy-haired man behind him. The latter was helping a short, stocky man who looked almost like a Viking to his feet. Next to him, a willowy young man with long blond hair was helping a dark-haired figure to rise; when the blond turned, Hogan was startled to notice his pointed ears and almond-shaped eyes. His companion was equally startling; he was shorter and rounder than the Viking, and he was barefoot, showing copious quantities of fuzz on the tops of his feet. Two other small figures huddled beside a third, who was probably the aforementioned Frodo.

One of these turned with a worried look on his face. “’E’s ’urt bad, Strider,” he reported, his concern showing plainly in his voice.

Both of the small ones moved aside as the raven-haired man hurried over to their fallen companion to assess the situation. “He is unconscious,” he finally reported. “It looks like he struck his head on a rock as we fell.”

“Kinch, get a medic,” ordered Hogan softly.

“Right, Colonel,” the black sergeant nodded and hurried away.

“LeBeau, get the first aid kit.”

“ _Oui d’accord_.”

“Newkirk, what happened?”

“I was mindin’ me own business when these blokes fell out o’ the bloomin’ sky an’ landed on top o’ me, that’s wot ’appened!” Newkirk fumed.

“May I inquire as to where we are?” the old gentleman firmly but gently interrupted.

“Not until we find out exactly who you are,” Hogan retorted, noting that all but the blond and the Viking were armed with swords and that the blond carried a bow and knife while the Viking held an axe.

The old man sized him up carefully, then nodded. “I am Gandalf the Grey. With me are Aragorn son of Arathorn, Boromir son of Denethor, Gimli son of Glóin, Legolas Greenleaf, Meriadoc Brandybuck, Peregrin Took, Samwise Gamgee, and the injured one is Frodo Baggins. We were on our way through the mines of Moria when…”

“We fell through the floor,” supplied the one pointed out as Peregrin.

“An’ found oursel’s ’ere,” added Meriadoc, still standing near Frodo.

LeBeau returned with the first aid kit. “Here, _colonel_.”

Hogan handed it wordlessly to Aragorn, who started looking through it to see if he recognized anything he could use to begin mending the injury on Frodo’s head.

Gimli looked around and snorted. “You call this a cave?” he grumbled.

“Naw, we call it a tunnel,” Carter replied good-naturedly. He seemed to have recovered his wits that much.

“That explains a lot.”

Something in Gimli’s attitude suddenly struck Carter the wrong way. “Look, it might not be pretty, but it’s all we’ve got. There’s a war on, y’know, and as POWs…”

“Carter!” Hogan interrupted before Carter could give away anything further.

“Oops…” Carter realized his mistake and shut up.

But the revelation served only to confuse the newcomers more. “What war?” frowned Boromir.

“Wot’s a POW?” asked Sam.

Legolas and Aragorn looked at each other and spoke briefly in a language none of the Heroes had ever heard before. Aragorn then looked from Carter to Hogan and back. “You speak strangely, Carter. Your accent is not that of Gondor or of Rohan.”

“Gondor? Where’s that?” frowned Carter.

Boromir stared. “You know nothing of Gondor?”

“No… never heard of it, or of Rohan either. Are they in England?”

“England?”

“’Course not, Andrew,” Newkirk put in. “I’ve never ’eard of ’em, either.”

“Well, they are not in France, _mon colonel_ ,” LeBeau spoke up for the first time.

“Or Germany,” Carter added. “If they were, we’d’a heard of ’em.”

“France?” squeaked Pippin.

“We should ’ave stayed in the Shire,” moaned Merry.

Hogan finally made up his mind. “LeBeau, as soon as Kinch gets back, have him send the medic on over here and tell him to radio London to ask about Gondor, Rohan, and Moria.”

“ _Oui_.” LeBeau looked at his watch. “Half an hour till roll call.”

“Thanks.”

They did not have long to wait. Aragorn was still trying to figure out what hydrogen peroxide might be when LeBeau returned from the radio room with the medical officer Kinch had located in Barracks 9. The Ranger and the doctor worked together and had Frodo’s head neatly bandaged within a matter of minutes.

“Will ‘e be all right?” worried Sam.

“Oh, yes,” smiled the doctor. “He has a concussion and may be out for another couple of hours, but there was no internal bleeding, so he should be fine. He does need to be moved someplace warmer, though, Colonel,” he continued, turning to his superior.

“Fine. Put him in my room,” Hogan nodded.

Aragorn gingerly lifted Frodo off the ground. “Lead on.”

The doctor led him to the tunnel entrance inside the barracks. Between them, and with a little help from Sam (who, as usual, refused to leave his master), they got Frodo out of the tunnel and situated on the lower bunk in Hogan’s quarters. Sam had just drawn a chair up to the bed when whistles and shouting began outside.

“Roll call,” explained the medic. “Gotta go. But he’ll be fine; just keep him warm. Oh, and you probably ought to stay away from the windows until Col. Hogan gets back.”

Sam and Aragorn nodded mutely, and the doctor left.

Meanwhile, in the radio room, Kinch had gotten one message from London and was waiting for another. He handed the clipboard to Hogan.

“Names do not correspond to any known location, not part of any known code,” Hogan read. “Will research further, stand by.”

“Think they’re loony, Colonel?” Kinch asked.

Hogan listened as Legolas and Gimli squabbled softly about elves and dwarves. “I dunno. It could be. But there’s something… well, _odd_ about them. Not bad, just odd.” He shook his head and looked back at the clipboard.

“What should we do, Colonel?” Carter wondered.

Hogan shrugged eloquently.

“You’re not gonna keep ‘em down ‘ere, are you?” Newkirk frowned.

“Well, for the moment, we’ve got no choice. We have to be careful until we find out what’s going on.”

“Roll call! Roll call!” LeBeau, who’d followed Sam and Aragorn into the barracks, shouted down into the tunnel. Hogan motioned Carter and Newkirk to go ahead.

“Should I leave the radio? I mean, London said to stand by,” Kinch inquired, eyes wide.

Hogan thought fast. “No, stay down here. We can cover for you.” He then walked over to where the newcomers were waiting. “Boromir, could you come with me? I need your help for a few minutes.”

“What is it you ask of me?” Boromir asked warily.

“I need you to stand in for Kinch during roll call.”

“What?” six voices gasped.

“It’ll only take a sec,” Hogan shrugged.

“But… I look nothing like your… Kinch,” Boromir objected.

“Don’t worry, I’ll cover for you. C’mon.”

Looking thoroughly unconvinced, Boromir followed Hogan up the ladder and outside. Hogan showed him where to stand, and they waited a moment until a voice yelled, “ _Achtung_!”

Everyone snapped to attention except Boromir, who followed suit a split second later. Hogan sensed the other man’s hesitation and filed it away with all the other small oddities about the group. _Apparently he doesn’t even understand that much German_ , he thought. _I’ll ask him about that later… if he doesn’t ask me first._

Boromir stood still, impassive but uncomfortable, and watched with a mixture of irritation and curiosity as a fat man came by, counting under his breath. For the first time Boromir was able to get a sense of their surroundings. To one accustomed to the splendor of the White City, the place was a nightmare. The ramshackle one-story buildings stood on the largest piece of bare earth he’d seen this side of Mordor. There was no grass anywhere. Beyond the building in front of him he could see structures that looked like boxes on stilts and many tall poles held together by wire—barbed wire, from the look of it. He thought he saw trees beyond that, but he couldn’t tell what kind. His eyes then strayed to the men around him. They were a motley crew, dressed in strange garb, but some wore clothes that looked distinctly similar. The longer he looked, the more similarities he could see, until at last he figured out that they were all wearing various kinds of uniforms, though none were of a style he was accustomed to seeing. He could also see that the men in the round helmets pointing bizarre-looking weapons at them also wore uniforms, and he got the distinct impression that they were being guarded.

The fat man stopped short as he passed Boromir. “Col. Hogan…” he said in a low voice. “That is not Sgt. Kinchloe.”

“Yes, it is, Schultz,” Hogan replied. “We were practicing for a play and he didn’t have time to get his makeup off.”

“Jolly joker,” Schultz retorted, sounding unconvinced.

“All right, you wanna know the truth? Kinch is waiting for a radio message from London, but we didn’t want you to look bad, so we brought out this guy.”

“Who’s he?”

“Boromir son of Denethor, captain of the Tower Guard of Minas Tirith and heir to the stewardship of Gondor,” Boromir introduced himself, subconsciously putting his hand on his hilt.

Schultz stared at him in confusion for a moment, then stated emphatically, “I see NO-THINK!”

Boromir was still digesting this pronouncement when a tall, thin man came out of the building in front of them yelling, “Repoooooooooort!”

As Schultz hesitated, Hogan told him softly, “Kinch is here, Schultz, take my word for it. He’ll be back to normal by the next roll call.” Schultz still balked, so Hogan added, “I’ll pay you later.”

“Cash?”

“Chocolate.”

With a twinkle in his eye, Schultz went forward and saluted the newcomer. “Herr Kommandant, I wish to report all present and accounted for.”

“Thank you, sergeant. Diiis-” The thin man broke off as he caught sight of Boromir. “Who is that?”

“Sergeant Kinchloe, Herr Kommandant. The men were practicing for a play and did not have time to help him take off his makeup.”

“A play? At this hour of the morning?”

“I know, but that is what Col. Hogan said.”

The commandant looked hard at Boromir. “Remarkable,” he breathed at last. “He looks nothing like his normal self.”

“Thank you, sir,” Hogan grinned. “The boys worked on him pretty hard. Took all night, really; we haven’t even started rehearsals yet.”

The commandant stared a moment longer in admiration until a sudden thought occurred to him. “Hogan,” he threatened, turning and shaking his finger at the senior POW, “you and your men had better not try to use their makeup skills to escape!”

Hogan looked genuinely astonished. “Colonel Klink, I’m surprised at you! You know we’d never try to leave here! Besides, as long as that job took, we’d never be able to get out of camp before daylight.”

Klink still didn’t look happy, but he let the subject drop. “Dis-missed!” he grumbled. Schultz saluted, the guards left, and the men dispersed… all except Boromir, who stood frowning where he was, trying to make sense of what he’d just seen.

“He looks genuinely confused, _colonel_ ,” LeBeau reported, stealing a quick glance at Boromir.

“I saw him put his hand on his sword, almost like it was a reflex,” added Carter, who’d been standing next to him.

“An’ wot was all that nonsense about captain of the tower guard an’ bein’ an heir?” Newkirk frowned. “Don’t think a Gerry would know to introduce ‘imself that way.”

“All right,” nodded Hogan. “Add that to the facts we already know, plus the fact that he didn’t seem to know what _Achtung_ means….”

“You noticed that, too?” Carter interrupted. At Hogan’s curious glance, he continued, “I… he didn’t come to attention when everyone else did. Kinda looked startled and confused, looked around, and then came to attention. And the whole time he looked like he was trying to figure out what was going on.”

Hogan nodded again, this time more thoughtfully. He then glanced over his shoulder at Boromir. “Okay.”

The foursome walked back to where the man of Gondor was still staring off into space. Before any of them could say a word, Boromir turned his gaze on Hogan.

“This is a prison,” Boromir said slowly. It was part statement and part question.

Hogan got the feeling that nothing less than the truth would satisfy the man. “Yes.”

“And you are prisoners… prisoners of war.”

“Correct.”

“Coming from… three?… different lands.”

“Right.”

“And those guarding you are from a fourth.”

“Right.”

“And you work against your captors without their knowledge from the secret tunnels where we first met, is that not so?”

Since Boromir still sounded genuinely lost, Hogan nodded.

Boromir nodded also, still thinking. Then he continued, “That explains much. But still I do not know where we are. Everything is strange to me. And the guards speak a language I have never heard in Middle-earth.” Again he frowned at the distant trees.

Hogan stared. “Did you say Middle-earth?”

Boromir looked back at him sharply. “You know the name?”

Hogan nodded. “It sounds vaguely familiar… came out of a book I read.”

This time it was Boromir’s turn to stare. “A _book_?” he asked incredulously.

“Colonel…” Newkirk broke in. “Are you suggestin’ that these blokes came out of a _book_?”

“ _C’est impossible!_ ” protested LeBeau. “ _Incroyable!_ How could someone fall out of a book into real life?”

“Well, I suppose it could be possible,” Carter shrugged. “Y’know, if there was maybe some sort of worm hole between the book dimension and the dimension we’re in….”

Ignoring his junior officers, Hogan stated, “There’s only one way to find out. C’mon, let’s go see what Kinch found out from London.”

As they turned to go in, Hogan thought he caught sight of two young faces peering out the barracks window. _Are they… nah, they couldn’t be_ , he thought. _Although the injured one_ is _named Baggins… and isn’t the old guy named Gandalf? Plus Glóin’s son and Legolas, who is apparently an elf…_

“Say, Boromir,” he asked aloud as they walked through the door, “you wouldn’t happen to know someone by the name of Bilbo Baggins, would you?”

“Yes! We met in Rivendell; he now lives there with Master Elrond and the elves. I last saw him over a fortnight ago when the Fellowship departed on this Quest. Young Frodo is his nephew. Why?”

_I have got to be dreaming_, Hogan thought as he answered, “Oh, no reason. Just… just curious.”

Sam poked his head out of Hogan’s office. “Strider’s gone downstairs,” he reported, “and I think Master Frodo might be waking up soon. Is there some way I could make ’im some soup? I’m sure ’e’ll be ’ungry when ’e comes to.”

“I’ll do it, _colonel_ ,” LeBeau volunteered. Hogan absently nodded his approval.

“You sure it’s no trouble, Mister LeBeau? I don’t mind doin’ it meself….”

LeBeau laughed and ruffled the hobbit’s hair. “Of course not, _petit ami._ I enjoy cooking. It will be no trouble, I assure you. You go watch over your friend, and I will make the soup. Okay?”

“That’s fine, LeBeau,” Hogan agreed. “Boromir, come with me.”

The American and the Adan pushed past Merry and Pippin, who were both asking questions at once, and went down into the tunnel. LeBeau got started on making soup for Frodo, and Newkirk and Carter took it upon themselves to keep the two tweenagers occupied.

While Boromir reported to Aragorn and Gandalf, Hogan went to the radio room. Kinch handed him the clipboard with the disclaimer, “You’re never gonna believe this, Colonel.”

“I already don’t quite believe it, if they said what I think they said,” Hogan sighed and looked at the paper. He read it and shook his head. “No sources found for the name of Rohan or Gondor, but Moria mentioned in _The Hobbit_ by J. R. R. Tolkien, published 1937.” He looked up at Kinch. “Is this really happening?”

“I’ll pinch you if you want,” Kinch volunteered with a twinkle.

Hogan was about to take him up on the offer when Gimli, who was observing the architecture, accidentally backed into him. The contact with the dwarf’s mail convinced him that he was, indeed, wide awake.

“I’m very sorry, Col. Hogan,” Gimli apologized. “I suppose I forgot to look where I was walking.”

“What were you doing, anyway?” Hogan chuckled.

“Examining your tunnel system. As a dwarf, I take some interest in these things, and I found some structural weaknesses that I thought you ought to know about.”

Gimli was just about to begin explaining his findings when another radio message came through from London. Kinch wrote it down and acknowledged it, then took off his headphones and looked up at Hogan. “They want us to meet Tiger as scheduled.”

“Still at X14?”

“Yep.”

Hogan nodded. “Okay. Send Carter and LeBeau. They’ll be the easiest to cover for.”

“You sure? She’ll be expecting you, not them.”

“Kinch, we’ve got nine guests around here, and six of ‘em aren’t even human! Somebody’s gotta hang around and make sure the Krauts don’t get suspicious!”

“Krauts? What race are they?” frowned Gimli.

“Men,” answered Hogan.

“That’s debatable,” grumbled Kinch.

“Go get Carter and LeBeau,” chuckled Hogan.

Kinch obeyed, and Hogan headed over to where the two men and the wizard were holding conference. They had barely acknowledged his presence when Legolas came down the ladder from the outside; when he reached the bottom and turned around, Hogan noticed that his face was somber and paler than usual. He would have asked where Legolas had been, but something told him he’d find out soon enough.

“Well?” asked Aragorn softly. “What say the trees?”

“Fell things,” answered Legolas gravely. “Great evil rules in this land. They told me of what they know and what they have heard from the birds of places farther away… of the war, of midnight raids, of explosions that kill many and cause great destruction. They spoke also…” Here his voice almost failed. “Also of a plot to kill all who love Ilúvatar. To enslave all free men and subject them to the will of one lord they call Hitler. Already he has forced many into his service and swayed the minds of his people. All who oppose him fear for their lives, yet they support those who fight against him and aid them when they can.”

“Verily, this Hitler is a servant of the Dark Lord,” interjected Boromir.

“That is my opinion also, Boromir,” nodded Aragorn. “We must be careful.”

Seemingly oblivious to Hogan’s presence, Gandalf asked, “What news did they have of our hosts?”

Legolas brightened some. “Only good, Mithrandir. They come and go without the knowledge of their captors. When they do, things happen. Captives are set free, others are kept from captivity altogether, and always something happens to disrupt the plans of the evil ones.”

“I’m glad the trees approve,” Hogan smiled. “The Gestapo doesn’t.”

“You say they plan to kill those who love the One,” Gimli put in. “What did that mean?”

The elf’s face fell again. “The trees say that the Nazis, who serve Hitler, have been rounding up a people called Jews. They are taken away to camps, and many thousands have already died there from starvation, illness, hard work, or some sort of poison. One told me that a bird had told him of a meeting in Nuremberg at which the generals produced a plan to kill everyone who is a Jew. Then they plan to round up those known as Christians and kill them in the same way. Both groups worship the One, but there is a distinction between the two that I did not quite understand… something about Christians believing that Jesus is the Messiah and Jews believing that Messiah has not yet come.”

Gimli looked up at Hogan. “These, then, are the Krauts whom Kinch thinks are not worthy to be called Edain.”

Hogan nodded sadly. “Yep. They also kill anyone who doesn’t fit their idea of the ‘superman.’ Anyone who’s old, sick, mentally retarded, or from any ethnic group other than Aryan is marked for death. And that’s why we’re at war.”

Aragorn put a hand on Hogan’s shoulder. “We know little of the situation or the times we find ourselves in, Hogan. Yet we, too, fight the servants of the Dark Lord wherever we may find them. As long as we are in your house, you shall have the aid of our arms.”

Hogan’s dark eyes met Aragorn’s blue ones and held them for a moment. He didn’t quite know why, but Hogan felt that he could trust this man implicitly.

“Thank you, Aragorn,” Hogan smiled. “I appreciate it. And we may need your help, depending on what it is Tiger has to say.”

Just then Kinch returned with Carter and LeBeau. Hogan turned and gave them their instructions, then asked how things were going upstairs. No one marked the unspoken command that Aragorn gave Legolas or the elf’s silent acknowledgement.

“Sam is still watching Frodo,” LeBeau reported. “He’s made some noise, but he is not awake yet. But the soup is ready whenever he does wake, which Olsen thinks will be soon.”

“Good news,” Hogan nodded.

“Newkirk and I have been teaching Merry and Pippin how to play gin,” Carter added. “You might want to keep an eye on ’em, though.”

“Why?”

“All three of ’em have cards stuck to their foreheads.”

“Oh, brother,” Hogan grumbled good-naturedly and headed off to make sure the British corporal didn’t completely corrupt the young hobbits under his care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The report Legolas got about the Final Solution is based on the discovery made a couple of months ago that the Jews were not the only targets. I know not all Germans agreed with the Nazi regime, and I think the resistance workers were as brave and worthy of recognition as the Allied troops. As a Christian of Jewish ancestry (it's faint, but it's there), I've looked at both faiths and have come to the conclusion, as have many theologians, that the fundamental difference between Christianity and Judaism is acceptance of Jesus as the Messiah. There are all kinds of ramifications that come from that, but that's the key distinction. _The Hobbit_ was first published in England in 1937, so it's certainly possible for Hogan to have read it before becoming a POW, but there's no way he could have read LOTR because it wasn't published until 1954.


	2. Getting to know you....

“Wake up, Mr. Frodo,” Sam said, gently shaking Frodo’s shoulder.

Frodo groaned and put a hand to his head. “What happened?” he asked groggily without opening his eyes.

“We fell,” Sam answered simply. “An’ you ’it your ’ead on a rock.”

Frodo opened one eye and focused it on the speaker. “Hullo, Sam. How long….”

“You’ve been asleep for about two hours. The healer called it a con… con… concussion, I think. But we’re in the queerest place, Mr. Frodo; there’s tunnels downstairs, and lots of Big People with funny accents and strange clothes all talking about places I’ve never ’eard of, and there’s some sort of war going on and people called Krauts and other things that they ’aven’t explained yet.”

Frodo frowned and opened his other eye, then blinked as he looked around and took in his surroundings. “Odd sort of place for Men to build,” he remarked. “It’s all wood, and awfully plain.”

“Boromir says it’s a prison.”

“A prison?!”

“But it doesn’t seem like it somehow. Colonel Hogan an’ LeBeau an’ the others don’t act like prisoners… although Mr. Hogan did say we’re to ‘cover’ for LeBeau an’ Carter while they’re gone, but for the life of me I don’t know what ’e means. But ’ere, ’ave some soup. Mr. LeBeau made it.”

“Strange name,” Frodo commented, sitting up and taking the proffered soup bowl.

“’E’s one with a funny accent. Calls me ‘pehteet ahmee’ or something like that… and he speaks a language not even Gandalf knows. ’E’s shorter than most o’ the Big People, too. But ’e’s nice… ’as a merry twinkle in ’is eye, y’know. Almost like Tom Bombadil.”

“And he makes good soup. Not quite like anything I’ve ever had before, but it’s good. Would you like some?”

“No, thank you. I might have some in a bit, though, if you don’t eat it; there’s still some left that’s keeping warm. There’s a big metal thing in the middle of the room they call a stove, and it’s got a fire in it, and that’s what they cook on. And they’ve got lights that aren’t candles and something called a radio that they use to send messages to a place called London. And there’s a man called Kinch who does the sending, and what do you think, Mr. Frodo? His skin’s all _black!_ And so are his hair and eyes and moustache!”

“Really?!”

“Really! Almost like the Swertings the Gaffer told me about, only I don’t think the Swertings have black skin. There are a few other men here like that, too, and I think at least one of them, Mr. Baker, sends messages, too. I think it must be some sort of magic that only black-skinned people know. Gandalf hasn’t seen anything like it, and neither has Strider. Merry says they tap out some sort of rhythm with a lever, and it makes a beeping noise, and then another set of beeps comes back and Mr. Kinch writes down what it means.”

Frodo sipped his soup thoughtfully, digesting this bit of information.

Just then Merry and Pippin burst through the door. “Someone’s coming!” Merry hissed, and the pair dashed into Hogan’s closet.

Sam snatched the soup away from Frodo and placed it on Hogan’s desk, then mashed LeBeau’s beret down on his master’s head and forced him to lie back down.

“What…” Frodo squeaked.

“Lie still!” Sam whispered and jumped into Hogan’s footlocker.

Bewildered, Frodo did as he was told.

“Where is ze Cockroach?” a strange voice with an odd accent asked outside.

“Lyin’ down in Col. ’Ogan’s quarters,” answered another. “’E tripped and ’it ’is ’ead on the table. Got a nasty goose-egg. So Col. ’Ogan said ’e could lie down in there till ’is ’eadache goes away.”

“But I have been outside this hut all morning. I would have heard him yell when he hit his head… but I heard nothing.”

“Go a’ead an’ look if you don’t believe me!”

Realizing that the voices were not discussing him, Frodo quickly flipped over onto his stomach so that his face would not be readily seen. Seconds later, the door opened.

“You were right, Newkirk. I apologize,” said the first voice softly.

“Not to worry, Schultzie, no ’arm done.”

“Actually, I’m looking for Col. Hogan. Where is he?”

“Right here, Schultz,” replied a third voice. “What’s up?”

“Oh, Col. Hogan, the Big Shot wants to see you and Kinch in his office.”

“Okay. We’ll be there as soon as the boys finish getting his makeup off.”

After a pause, Schultz asked, “Is there some monkey business going on?”

“Not at the moment, no.”

“Is Herr… Bo-ro-mir still here?”

“Can’t tell you _that_ , Schultz. It’s classified information.”

“Jolly joker.”

“Oh, that reminds me, I owe you something.” There was a rustle of fabric and paper.

Schultz’s voice sounded much happier as he stated, “I’ll wait outside.”

“Thanks, Schultz.” Hogan’s voice also held an audible grin.

As soon as the outer door banged to, Newkirk and Hogan came further into the room. “Right, mates,” Newkirk nodded.

The closet and footlocker both popped open, and Frodo turned his head to see his hosts for the first time.

“Hallo, Frodo! So you’re awake at last! That was a nasty knock you got. Not so bad as that stab wound, but still…” Merry began.

“Aye, th’ healer thought ’e might ’ave tae put in stitches,” Pippin put in. “Rather a switch from Elrond, eh? By the way, ’ow’s that soup? Smells terrific.”

“Hullo, I’m fine apart from a splitting headache, and the soup _is_ quite good,” Frodo answered in a single breath.

Newkirk and Hogan looked at each other, obviously amused.

“Mr. Frodo, this is Mr. Hogan and Mr. Newkirk,” Sam interrupted, climbing out of the footlocker.

“Welcome to Stalag 13,” Hogan grinned.

“Thank you,” Frodo grinned back, rolling onto his side. “And please forgive my cousins. They’re… well, they’re tweenagers, and hobbits, and Took-Brandybuck stock…” He paused, then seeing that the explanation neither explained anything to the men nor completely pleased his cousins, he continued, “and a little… impetuous.”

“Is that so bad, Master Baggins?” Merry retorted a little too loudly. Frodo winced, but there was still a twinkle in his eye.

“Not as long as you stay out of trouble,” Hogan answered.

“Leave ’em to me, guv,” Newkirk chuckled.

“After that last hand of gin, I’m not sure I should!”

The others, including Merry and Pippin, burst out laughing.

Just then Kinch appeared in the doorway. “Did I miss something?”

“Never mind,” Hogan sighed, shaking his head with a grin. “C’mon, Klink wants to make sure you’re still here.”

“Right, Colonel. Mornin’, Frodo. Glad to see you’re okay.”

“Good morning, and thank you,” Frodo returned, hiding his surprise at the communications officer’s appearance and the rich timbre of his voice; both were quite unlike anything he had heard or seen in the Shire or on his travels.

As Kinch and Hogan left the room, Newkirk clapped Merry and Pippin on the shoulder. “Right, chaps. Let’s let Frodo ’ave a little peace and quiet, shall we?”

“We’ll come back later when your headache is better,” Merry promised as the British corporal herded them out the door.

“Welcome aboard, lad,” Newkirk winked at Frodo and shut the door gently.

After a brief pause, Frodo mused, “You know, Sam, if I didn’t have such a headache, I’d think I was dreaming.”

“I know what you mean, Mr. Frodo.”

“I’m glad somebody does…. Say, do you think Strider has any herbs for headaches?”

* * *

Legolas sighed as he leaned back against the trunk of the tree in which he’d stopped. Something just didn’t feel right, and he couldn’t define it. Granted, they were in a different world; he had surmised that fact from the slight difference in the languages of the trees and other living things when he had left the tunnel before. Still, that difference alone could not account for the unrest he felt.

“It’s been fifteen minutes,” he heard Carter whisper below him. “Where is she?”

“It’s not like Tiger to be late,” LeBeau replied, obviously concerned. “Something must have happened.”

_Aha_ , Legolas thought. _Tiger is a lady of their league, and something is amiss._ Glad for the confirmation yet still uneasy as to what it might mean, he subconsciously reached for his bow.

A split second later, his elven ears picked up the sound of someone coming through the bush with stealth and speed. He sensed the two men on the ground tense as the person drew nearer. Soon, a blonde young woman darted through the glen and joined the men at the base of the tree.

“Where you been?” Carter demanded softly.

“I was followed by ze Gestapo,” the new arrival answered. “I had to be extra careful.”

_And you’re still being followed_ , Legolas added mentally as another being, this one with a hint of evil about it, came within elven earshot. Since Tiger and LeBeau were conferring in rapid whispered French, he focused his attention on the pursuer, silently fitting an arrow to his bowstring.

“Hey, shouldn’t we get out of sight?” Carter finally asked.

As if on cue, the pursuer stepped on a twig. The trio at the base of the tree started and scurried into the brush; Legolas winced at how loud the rustle sounded.

“ _Halt! Wer geht’s da?_ ” shouted the pursuer, emerging on the far side of the glen.

Silence fell over the forest.

The man in black crossed the open ground and began beating the brush with his weapon in an attempt to drive out the men and woman. Legolas watched his every move from his perch in the tree. As the searcher approached the place where the others were hiding, LeBeau had to duck to avoid being brained by the rifle barrel. The searcher paused, as if he had heard the slight rustle of leaves that was not caused by his sweep.

LeBeau suddenly felt cold metal brush his nose as the rifle came past again.

Legolas took aim.

“ _Raus!_ ” shouted the man in black. “ _Hände hoch!_ ”

Carter, Tiger, and LeBeau stood… and dodged as the Gestapo officer fell headlong, an elven arrow having pierced his heart from behind with deadly accuracy.

“ _Mon Dieu!_ ” exclaimed Tiger, crossing herself.

“Golly!” breathed Carter.

“But who could have done it?” LeBeau wondered aloud. “You were right here, and Newkirk’s back at Stalag 13… who else knows how to shoot a bow and arrow?”

“One whose name is here unknown, save only to those deemed friends,” answered a voice from above them. They had no time to place it before Legolas swung easily to the ground and retrieved his arrow.

“Legolas?!” gasped Carter and LeBeau at the same time.

“Well met!” Legolas returned, wiping his arrow on the grass to clean it before returning it to its quiver. “But you would do well to be more cautious in the future. It would have proved ill for you had I not followed you at Aragorn’s bidding.”

“Who is this?” Tiger finally asked, eyeing him suspiciously. Underground work had taught her not to trust anyone she did not know, and Legolas did look… odd.

Carter shook his head once, remembering that Tiger was unfamiliar with their companion. “Uh, this is Legolas Greenleaf. He and some friends kinda… dropped in this morning. Legolas, this is Tiger. She’s one of the Underground leaders we work with.”

“ _Elen síla lúmenn’ omentielvo, hiril-nin_ ,” Legolas greeted her with a low bow. “A star shines on the hour of our meeting. But come,” he continued, turning to Carter. “We should not tarry here. I doubt that this man was alone in his pursuit of Lady Tiger.”

“No, he was not,” Tiger admitted.

“You’re right, Legolas,” LeBeau agreed. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Wait a minute,” Carter frowned. “If we’ve got Krauts on our trail, we can’t just lead ’em straight back to Stalag 13!”

“I have little knowledge of this forest,” Legolas broke in, “but if you will allow me, I will lead you on a path no man can trace.”

“Through the trees?” LeBeau guessed. “But how…”

“Aw, c’mon, Louis! Let’s try it,” Carter interrupted.

“ _Oui_ ; if it will keep the Gestapo from finding us, it is worth the risk,” Tiger agreed.

“Besides, if Legolas was able to follow us all the way from camp without us knowin’ it, he should be able to help us get back without anyone knowin’ it!”

LeBeau made an I’m-not-so-sure-about-this face.

“You shall have the Prince of Mirkwood as your guide,” Legolas coaxed, placing a hand on LeBeau’s shoulder. “And since I seem to be the only elf in this world, I doubt that you could find a better. No harm shall come to you.”

LeBeau sighed resignedly. “All right.”

Legolas climbed into the tree first, then caught Tiger’s hand as Carter and LeBeau helped her up. Carter gave LeBeau a boost and then clambered up himself.

“Follow me,” Legolas ordered and began wending his way expertly through the trees.

“Did he say he is an _elf_?” Tiger whispered to Carter as they cautiously followed his lead.

“Wait’ll you see his friends,” Carter whispered back. “One of ’em’s a wizard.”

Tiger murmured some French exclamation of surprise, and Legolas barely restrained a laugh. 

* * *

“Tell me again why we’re doin’ dis,” Colonel “Racetrack” Higgins sighed, watching the British countryside roll by as the Jeep bounced along the road toward Oxford, his New York accent thickened by sleep deprivation.

“Hogan said he needed to talk to the man,” General David Jacobs replied with a shrug. “Apparently it has something to do with a mission.”

“Yeah, but _hobbits_? Dat don’t sound like some super-secret mission to me,” Lieutenant Colonel “Mush” Meyers groaned.

“Me, either,” Sergeant Les Jacobs agreed from the driver’s seat. “And why do we hafta talk to some professor who teaches old languages?”

“And made up a few of his own,” Race added.

“And at this hour,” Mush commented, looking at his watch. They’d been running short enough on sleep as it was; being pulled out of bed at 5 a.m. GMT to run this errand 45 miles from HQ hadn’t helped at all, and the fact that the final transmission explaining the request hadn’t come through until nearly 6 just made it worse. David seemed to be the only member of the group whose mood had not been adversely affected, but he had always been the temperate one, so no one was surprised. “It bettah be important… I think he forgets he ain’t in de same time zone.”

“Crazy kid,” General Frances Sullivan, better known to his friends as “Cowboy” Jack Kelly, grumbled. “Don’t he know dere’s a war on?”

David chuckled. His 62-year-old brother-in-law was probably the only person he knew who routinely called Colonel Robert E. Hogan a “crazy kid.” _Forty-five years ago we were the crazy kids_, he mused, recalling the improbable success of the New York Newsboys Strike of 1899. _But I guess Jack has a right to call him that; after all, we are about thirty years older than he is, and I don’t seem to recall any newsie who would have tried any of Hogan’s stunts back in our day. Well, we have had our moments…_ He shook his head, remembering both the unusual tactics they resorted to during the strike and the way they found themselves in the military some 17 years later. When the first world war broke out in 1914, Jack and Sarah had been married and settled on a small ranch outside Santa Fe (purchased with a small loan from Medda) for seven years, with Crutchy helping out with the bookwork and Les as their foreman, and David was in Albuquerque doing graduate work at the University of New Mexico. Whenever David came to visit, the five of them would discuss the news from Europe and about the latest revolution in Mexico, and by May of 1915 Jack and David reached the conclusion that they would more than likely need to join the army before much longer. Sarah didn’t like the idea of her husband and brother both putting themselves in danger of facing the horrors of the Western front or the rebels allied with Pancho Villa, but she had to agree with Crutchy that it was better for them to join in peacetime than to be drafted. So Jack and David had enlisted at Fort Sam Houston, and they moved up to the rank of sergeant fairly quickly because of the severe shortage of manpower. But with the rumblings of war overseas growing louder, the pair was soon called upon to help with recruiting, and Jack knew the perfect place to go. They came back to New York in January of 1917, and Jack wasted no time in explaining their return to the friends who had met them at Tibby’s the day of their arrival; some of the guys were still working for the paper after all that time. David could still remember the conversation.

_“ We want you to join the army,” Jack had said with characteristic bluntness._

“What? Why? What for? Why us?”

“Youse guys are newsies an’ you don’t know what for?”

“You really think we’re gonna join de war, Jack?” Mush asked after a stunned silence.

“Yeah. I don’t see no way around it. It ain’t goin’ nowhere without us, an’ wid dese submarines de Germans are puttin’ out… we can’t just sit back an’ watch, y’know? An’ some o’ the brass are startin’ to say de same thing.”

“But why us, Jack?” Race frowned. “Yeah, we done our share o’ fightin’, but… de army?”

“Yeah, some of us got families now,” Specs added. “We join de army, we could get killed.”

“You think Sarah’s thrilled with the idea?” David interjected.

Jack sighed. “Look, somebody’s got to go, right? An’ maybe… if we go, some other kid won’t hafta put his life on de line.”

Spot took a deep breath and nodded. “Okay, Jackie boy. I’m in.”

So they had joined, enough of them to make their own battalion, which David and Jack managed (through sheer persistence) to persuade the army to keep together as a unit rather than separating them; none of these life-long friends were willing to lose track of the others. Crutchy bitterly lamented his inability to go along, but Jack charged him with looking after Sarah and the ranch, since Les had also decided to enlist. And it was just as well for Crutchy that he stayed behind; less than half of the newsies came back physically unscathed (even fewer mentally unscathed), and a fourth of them never came back at all. But much to everyone’s surprise, a handful decided that military life was perfect for them. So, in the years of relative peace that followed, they had worked their way up through the ranks to their current positions, gaining a real education along the way and even making contributions to the modernization of the armed forces, and most of them had retired before the attack on Pearl Harbor spurred them to follow the same course of action they had taken in 1917. This time, however, there would be few newsie casualties, since most of them were too old for active duty and ranked high enough to be most useful on the General Staff.

“I mean, it’s not like we didn’t have more important things to do,” Jack continued, breaking into David’s reverie. “It’s June 1. You’d think dey coulda sent somebody else….”

“Spot jus’ likes to mess wid us, Jack. You know dat,” Mush interrupted from the front seat.

“Yeah, he thinks he’s so special ’cause he’s in intelligence—as if dat mattehs,” Race added, grinning at the improbability of the “king of the newsies” growing up to become Colonel Conlon of the OSS.

“We do still outrank him,” David laughed. “But hey, it’s a chance to get out of the office, right, guys?”

The other men grudgingly agreed that it was.

By this time they had reached their destination, and Les parked the Jeep in front of 20 Northmoor Road. The five aging Yankees piled out and trooped up to the front door. Race rang the bell, praying that the inhabitants were early risers.

“May I help you?” asked the lady who answered the door.

“Mrs. Tolkien?” Mush asked.

“Yes. What can I do for you?”

“General Jacobs, ma’am, U.S. Army Air Corps. This is General Sullivan, Colonel Higgins, Lieutenant Colonel Meyers, and Sergeant Jacobs. We need to speak with your husband for a moment, if we may.”

Mrs. Tolkien looked worried. “Why? What do you need to speak with him about?”

“Um… hobbits,” Jack answered, slightly embarrassed.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, obviously relieved. “For a moment, I thought you had bad news about our son. Please come in!”

“At least _she_ knows what we’re talking about,” Race grumbled to Les.

“Glad somebody does, ’cause _I_ think Hogan’s off his rocker,” Les replied, disregarding the fact that although Hogan was his junior in years, he was his superior in rank.

Race gently socked his arm, a habit he’d gotten into when Les finally grew too tall for Race to rumple his hair.

David simply shook his head. _Yeah, Jack, I think you’re right. Spot_ would _have to send_ us _to do this… and it’s gonna be interesting._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations
> 
> _Halt! Wer geht’s da?_ = Halt! Who goes there?
> 
> _Raus! Hände hoch!_ = Out! Hands up!
> 
> _Elen síla lumenn’ omentielvo, hiril-nin_ = A star shines on the hour of our meeting, my lady.
> 
> * * *
> 
> I hope people understand that Frodo and Sam's shock at seeing an African-American comes strictly from the fact that there are few, if any, blacks in Middle-earth--at least, not that they have ever seen. The only reference I could find in _LOTR_ was to "out of Far Harad black men like half-trolls with white eyes and red tongues" who fought for Mordor, and they don't show up until chapter 6 of _The Return of the King_ during the Battle of the Pelennor Fields (roughly 500 pages after Moria). There don't seem to be any _nice_ blacks like Baker and Kinch mentioned in the book anywhere. (I don't think Tolkien was racist, BTW; that's just the way it worked out. And since we don't know much at all about Far Harad, these could well be slaves captured by Sauron and brought back to Mordor to fight against their will; Sauron did have tons of human slaves in addition to his hordes of orcs, goblins, and trolls. *shrug*) And in case anyone's wondering, Fort Sam Houston is in San Antonio, TX, so Sarah probably moved to San Antonio with Jack and David, leaving Crutchy and Les in charge of the ranch, until war was declared and Jack sent her back to Santa Fe.


	3. Here come the men in black...

Kinch leaned back with a sigh, mentally replaying the improbable events of the past three hours. After the departure of Carter and LeBeau, Hogan had gone upstairs to check on the gin game and came back with a message for London and two curious hobbits who watched his every move. Then the other visitors decided that they wanted the grand tour of the tunnel system, which left London on standby for an hour because Gimli stopped every few feet to comment on the tunnel structure and Merry and Pippin continually asked questions about anything they’d never seen before. Kinch had just barely had time to send the second half of their message to London when Schultz showed up, which led to 15 minutes of questioning in Klink’s office regarding the “play” the prisoners were supposedly practicing. On the way back, they ran into an RAF officer from Barracks 9 who had served in Manchester with Christopher Tolkien before being transferred to bomber duty (and subsequently being shot down and captured); this man had visited with the junior Tolkien about his father’s writings and gladly shared what little he knew about Middle-earth with Hogan, including the serial tale about a magic ring that, according to Christopher, was a work-in-progress that his father sent to him for a diversion. That had taken 30 minutes. After another short chat with Schultz and a cursory check to make sure that Frodo was still conscious and that Merry and Pippin hadn’t blown up anything, Kinch and Hogan had gone back to the radio room to send yet another message to London. The result was that Hogan had been arguing with the man on the other end of the wire for roughly five minutes.

Kinch was pulled out of his reverie by an exasperated sigh from his commanding officer. “Stand back, Goldilocks.”

“Stand back y’self, Teddy,” grumbled the American on the other end. “Oveh an’ out.”

Kinch recognized the coded signal and switched to the emergency voice wavelength, chosen because both parties knew no one monitored it, although transmissions were still kept as short as possible. “Teddy?” he asked as he turned the dial.

“Oh, that’s Conlon’s shorthand for ‘Papa Bear,’” Hogan sighed, shaking his head. “In person he calls me ‘Robbie boy,’ but since we’re on the radio….”

“Understood.”

“Okay, Teddy boy,” came through the speakers. “Youse got three more tries to tell me why y’don’t want dis package delivered.”

_Why Conlon?_ Hogan groaned inwardly. The OSS officer was a tough old bird who had once told Hogan, “I’ve told enough lies in my time to be able to see through one.” And he could. It had taken Hogan the majority of the war to find out why, though; it surprised all the Heroes when, in digging through old newspapers in the Hammelberg Library on an assignment to find something else, Newkirk had found an account from 1899 of the Newsie Strike, including Spot Conlon’s name and picture. It explained a lot—growing up on the streets of Brooklyn would make anyone fierce—but it didn’t help in trying to explain why they didn’t want Professor Tolkien to be parachuted in to help them ostensibly build a new code.

Hogan took a deep breath and began again. “Too dangerous.”

“One.”

“We don’t need it in our way in the current situation.”

“Two.”

Deciding to go for the absolute truth, Hogan replied, “If you were in the process of writing a fantasy novel, would you want to come face to face with your characters?”

There was a stunned pause before Spot yelled, “ _What?_ ”

“You heard me. And no, that’s not code.”

“How?”

“Dunno. Just found connections to the package from here. It’s the truth, though.”

Spot grumbled something that didn’t quite come through on the radio; Kinch suspected it was some sort of comment about Hogan’s sanity. Finally, in a clearly disgruntled voice, he stated, “Package will be kept here until called for.”

“Thanks, Goldilocks. Over and out.”

“What was it he said?” Kinch asked.

“I dunno,” Hogan shrugged, “but I think he was swearing in Swedish.”

“Swedish?!”

“Didn’t that newspaper article mention some Swedish dance-hall singer who was friends with the newsies? Maybe he learned it from her.”

Kinch shook his head. “This has got to be the craziest war on record.”

“You could be right, Kinch. ’Course, the Thirty Years’ War did start with people throwing each other out of windows….”

“And then there was the Boston Tea Party….”

“And the Battle of the Seine, where the French Army commandeered all the taxis in Paris to get to the front on time….”

“But I don’t know if even that tops some of the stunts we’ve pulled!”

Both men laughed.

Hogan looked down at his watch and sobered. “They should be back by now.”

Kinch looked at his own watch. “Only twenty minutes late. Maybe they had to take a different route back to avoid patrols.”

“Maybe… but normally there _aren’t_ any patrols on that route.”

“So what do we do?”

“Only thing we _can_ do. Wait. And hope nothing happened.”

Kinch sighed. They all hated being in this position. Sometimes the men outside were simply running late, and sometimes they were captured or injured. No one had any way of knowing, and there was really nothing they could do until someone showed up or word came by radio.

“By the way, where are our guests again?”

“The hobbits are upstairs, and I think Gimli is, too. Aragorn and Boromir are waiting in the emergency tunnel, and Gandalf went off somewhere to ‘practice.’”

“Practice what?”

“Spells, maybe? I dunno.”

“Why would he need to practice spells?”

“Well, suppose they really _are_ from another universe. The rules are probably different here. So he may think he needs to find out exactly how much magic he can do here.” Kinch shrugged.

“Yeah, I guess that makes sense.” Hogan made a mental tally. “That’s only eight, though. Where’s Legolas?”

Kinch thought for a moment. “Haven’t seen him since Carter and LeBeau left.” At his commander’s frown, he added, “Maybe he just went outside to talk to the trees again. He didn’t seem too happy down here.”

“Maybe,” Hogan nodded, still frowning. The explanation didn’t quite seem to fit, though; the elf had been gone far too long for a simple excursion through the forest.

“ _A Elbereth Gilthoniel!_” suddenly rang through the tunnel.

“ _Aiya Eärendil Elenion Ancalima!_ ” Aragorn’s voice replied as a countersign.

Kinch and Hogan left the radio and hurried into the emergency tunnel. Sure enough, Legolas had just reached the bottom of the ladder, and LeBeau was hard on his heels.

“Where’ve _you_ been?” Hogan demanded of Legolas.

“With them,” Legolas replied, nodding toward LeBeau.

“ _Oui_ , and it’s a good thing he was,” LeBeau agreed, moving out of the way for Tiger. “The _Boche_ were after Tiger, and Legolas helped us lose them.”

Kinch picked a leaf off LeBeau’s shoulder. “Took the high road, huh?” he teased.

“Hey, my Sioux cousins woulda been proud,” Carter announced as he clambered down the ladder. “That SS guy never knew what hit ’im!”

Hogan looked hard at Legolas. “SS?”

“Yeah!” Carter answered before Legolas could. “He almost had us, too. But ol’ Leggy here shot ’im ’fore he could do anything.”

“Leggy?!” the Edain and the elf asked incredulously.

Carter looked at his shoes sheepishly. “Sorry. Guess you guys aren’t too big on nicknames.”

“Legolas…” Hogan insisted.

Legolas looked Hogan squarely in the eye. “A soldier in black was following Lady Tiger and was about to capture Carter and LeBeau along with her. I had no choice but to shoot. To avoid further pursuit, I led the others back through the trees.”

“What’d you have to shoot ’im for? Now the Gestapo will be after _us_!”

Legolas bristled at Hogan’s tone. “Colonel Hogan, he had the others at bay. Had I merely rendered him unconscious, he would have been able to identify them when he came to, and there would have been a greater chance, however remote it might still have been, that he could have seen _me_. Nor could we safely have taken him prisoner. Furthermore, since I do not use your weapons, it will prove more difficult to identify who and what killed him; I did remove the arrow.”

“We are also unused to simply disarming fell creatures,” Aragorn continued, laying a hand on his old friend’s shoulder. “Legolas was acting on instinct, Hogan. Had you lived in Mirkwood for any length of time, you would understand.”

Hogan frowned. “Mirkwood? Isn’t that where all those giant spiders live, the ones that nearly got the best of Bilbo and the dwarves?”

“Among other things,” Legolas nodded. “When Sauron, in the guise of the Necromancer, took up residence in Dol Guldur, many fell things began to inhabit the forests of my father’s realm. Orcs, Wargs, spiders, and things worse than these—I have hunted them all. This man… _felt_ like one of the Enemy’s spies. Aragorn is right; I acted on instinct.”

Comprehension dawned on Hogan’s face. “I see. I’m sorry, Legolas. Your actions _do_ make sense now.”

“And I ask forgiveness in advance if these… Gestapo do cause trouble for you on my account. I am not sure how I could have acted differently, but I do not wish to cause you problems.”

“Colonel, d’ya think we could hear what Tiger has to say now?” Kinch broke in.

Hogan blinked. “Huh? Oh, sure. Tiger, this is Aragorn and Boromir, and I think you know Legolas.”

“ _Enchante_ ,” Tiger smiled.

Both Aragorn and Boromir bowed—rather deeply, Tiger thought, surprised.

“C’mon, let’s do this in my office. I want all our guests to be in on this. Anyone know where Gandalf is?”

“Right behind you,” replied the wizard with a twinkle.

Hogan jumped, and everyone laughed.

“I wasn’t far away,” Gandalf explained, “and I heard the name of Elbereth, so I knew Legolas must have returned.”

“How long have you been standing there?” Hogan asked.

“Not long. Let us retire to your quarters, for I am as anxious as you to hear what this lady has to say. Perhaps your mission is the reason we are here.”

Hogan muttered something that sounded like “uncanny,” and the nine of them trooped upstairs, picking up Newkirk, Gimli, Merry, and Pippin on the way. The latter two piled onto the lower bunk in Hogan’s room with Sam and Frodo, who was still suffering the effects of his head injury.

“There is a supply train passing this way tomorrow night on its way to France,” Tiger began simply.

“And they want us to blow it up?” Carter asked hopefully.

“ _Oui et non_. You see, this train is not merely carrying supplies. A group of musicians who were prisoners at Dachau are also traveling on the train. We believe they are bound for a château near Rennes that serves as an officers’ club. There is also a rumor that that château is to be attacked just prior to the Allied invasion, whenever it may come.”

“So London wants us to save the Jews and destroy the train, is that it?” Hogan frowned.

“ _Oui_. They are very fine musicians, we are told, but London is not sure that the commandos attacking the château would know that they are Jews. And stopping the train could mean life or death to the invading force.”

“Sounds simple enough,” Kinch shrugged.

“Assuming that we haven’t managed to get the Gestapo out looking for us,” Hogan agreed.

“How can we help?” Aragorn asked.

“That’s a good question, Aragorn, and I do appreciate the offer,” Hogan answered as he pulled down a map. “Tiger, can you map out the route the train will take?”

A highly technical and strategic discussion followed, quickly dividing into two conversations as Gandalf and Carter sought a corner in which to discuss the finer points of pyrotechnology. The hobbits quickly got lost trying to follow the various threads of discourse, but they nevertheless sat politely and tried to appear interested. Merry, in particular, gazed intently at the map, memorizing its features in case he were ever in a position to need the knowledge.

Suddenly Legolas, who had been leaning against a bedpost with his arms folded as he listened to Aragorn and Hogan, stood up straight and turned his head toward the window as if he were trying to listen and watch for something at the same time. A split second later, Frodo grabbed at something under his shirt.

“Gandalf…” Frodo choked out a barely audible whisper that was a panicked plea for help.

Alarmed, Sam covered Frodo’s hands with his own.

“What is it, Legolas?” Aragorn frowned, turning to face his friend.

“I do not know for certain,” Legolas replied. “Something approaches the gate, but I cannot place the sound it makes… almost like the wheels of a wain, and yet not so.”

Hogan and his men exchanged a look and dashed out of the office into the main room of the barracks, huddling around the window next to the door. Aragorn and Boromir followed them, as did Tiger; Legolas turned his full attention to the view from the office window, while Gimli stood in the doorway with his axe ready in his hands. Merry and Pippin, unsure of what they ought to be doing, opted to stay out of the way by remaining firmly seated at the end of the lower bunk. Sam and Gandalf, meanwhile, focused on Frodo, who was clutching the object under his shirt desperately.

“Let go, Sam….”

“Shh, now, Mr. Frodo… we’re safe enough ’ere.”

“Must use it… must get away… they’ll find me….”

Gandalf quietly but firmly broke into the whispered conversation. “Frodo, we do not know what the Ring will do here. But you _cannot_ use it. If indeed it draws the servants of the Enemy here as strongly as it does in Middle-earth, we are in danger enough without using it; to use it would merely be to endanger ourselves and our hosts even more. Yes, Frodo, our hosts are in danger as well, and not simply from harboring us. Were anyone to learn of this assignment that we just discussed, they would surely be killed. We are not yet in Mordor, but this is assuredly Enemy territory.”

The wild look in Frodo’s eyes faded. “Yes… yes, you’re right, Gandalf. I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me… I suppose it _was_ the Ring… and this confounded head injury isn’t helping.” He sighed. “You know, for a moment I had forgotten all about It. I had hoped….”

“As had I,” Gandalf replied with a gentle smile.

“Gandalf, come and see this thing,” Legolas beckoned. “It _is_ a wain of sorts, I think, and yet it is not drawn by horses!”

Gandalf frowned and moved to the window. “Most odd….”

“And the men inside are clad in the same manner as the man I shot.”

At about this moment, Pippin got tired of being out of the way. A silver object on Hogan’s desk caught his eye, and he silently slipped across the room to investigate. It looked like something he’d seen in the other room that LeBeau had called a coffeepot, but this was different; it was not shaped the same way, but was more like a teapot, and it had a glass lid. Pippin gently took the lid off and discovered what looked like a removable sieve under it. He gave it an experimental tug and found that it would indeed come out, but that a metal box was attached to the bottom of it; this box had wires running out of it that attached to something inside that he couldn’t quite see. Before his nimble fingers could find out for him, a red button-like object on the base caught his attention. He set down the box lightly and tried to push the button, but it would not push in, nor would it turn like a knob. Then he spied a cord with a black knob on the end that looked like it fit into a hole in the base that he found a few seconds later. So he tried it. As soon as he did, the red button lit up.

“Now that’s funny…” Pippin muttered to himself, cocking his head to one side as he tried to puzzle out the riddle.

“Herr Kommandant?” a female voice suddenly asked from the box.

Pippin yelped in surprise and jumped backward.

“Wha’ was that?!” Merry asked.

“It… it TALKS!” Pippin stuttered.

“ _Ist es wichtig, Fräulein Hilda? Ich bin mit so furchtbar viel Schreibarbeit beschäftigt_ ,” whined a male voice.

“ _Tut mir Leid, Herr Kommandant, aber Herr Major Hochstetter ist hier und möchtet mit Ihnen sprechen._”

Merry and Pippin looked at each other in astonishment.

“Ah, congratulations, Pippin! You found our bug in Klink’s office,” Hogan grinned as he and the others trooped back into the small room.

“A what?” all nine Fellowship members asked at the same time.

“An electronic listening device… well, basically, we have a little thing called a microphone hidden in Col. Klink’s office, and it sends sounds through a wire into this speaker in the coffeepot basket.” At the others’ blank looks, Hogan shook his head slightly. “Never mind. I forget you don’t have that kind of technology.”

Boromir shook his head, amazed. “Horseless wains… listening devices that carry sound through wire… sparks that send messages thousands of miles in mere moments… verily, I can scarce believe that Men could create such wonders! Not because I doubt the ingenuity of Men,” he added with a sidelong look at Legolas, who merely rolled his eyes.

“ _Ah, Herr Major Hochstetter! Freut mich, Sie wieder zu sehen_,” Klink’s voice came over the speaker before the discussion could continue.

The POWs could almost picture Hochstetter’s not-entirely-pleased expression. “ _Ja, ja, ja. Heil Hitler._”

“ _Heil Hitler! Ähm… warum haben Sie Schultz mitgebracht?_ ”

“ _Weil ich Hilfe von beide von Ihnen brauche…leider_.”

“What’s going on?” Frodo asked. “I can’t hear.”

“It’s in German anyway; I’ll translate for you,” Kinch, who was closest to the speaker, replied. “Major Hochstetter just arrived; he’s a Gestapo agent. He says he needs Klink’s help.”

“ _Na, also, wie dürfen wir Ihnen helfen? Zigarre?_” Klink asked.

“ _Nein, danke. Klink, einer meiner Soldaten war heute morgen getötet, als er einen Mitglied des Untergrunds verfolgte_.”

“ _Solche Ungeheuer!_”

“He’s reporting the death of the man Legolas shot,”  Kinch continued.

“ _Wir glauben, daß er mit einem Pfeil erschossen war._”

“Shot with an arrow.”

Legolas groaned.

“ _Was? Mit ’ nem Pfeil? Gibt es jetzt wilden Indianer in unseren Wäldern?_”

Schultz let out a short laugh.

“ _Was ist so lustig, Herr Feldwebel?_ ” Hochstetter demanded.

“ _Entschuldigung, Herr Major_ ,” Schultz apologized. “ _Ich fand es nur lustig, weil wir einen Indianer hier bei Stalag 13 haben_.”

Kinch smiled wryly. “Klink asked if there were Indians in the woods, and Schultz laughed because, as he said, we have an Indian here.”

“What’s an Indian?” Merry wondered.

“Later….”

“ _Wer?_ ” Klink sounded surprised. “ _Ich weiß von keinen._ ”

“ _Doch, Herr Kommandant. Herr Feldwebel Kleineschnellundsicherdurchwaldgehendereh_.”

The POWs laughed at the German version of Carter’s Indian name.

“He’s talking about me,” Carter explained to the confused Fellowship.

“You’re an Indian?” Merry frowned.

“Partly… we’ll explain more when we have time.”

“ _Wie, bitte?_ ” asked Hochstetter, confused.

“ _Ähm… auf Englisch heißt er_ Little Deer Who Goes Swift and Sure Through Forest.”

“ _Und wer ist das, Schultz? Ich erkenne diese Name nicht_.” Klink was beginning to sound both confused and exasperated.

“ _Aber Sie kennen ihn doch, Herr Kommandant. Er ist der Feldwebel Carter_.”

“Klink didn’t recognize the name, but Schultz explained,” Kinch summarized.

“Carter, do you still have that bow?” Hogan asked his munitions expert.

“Yeah, but it’s in the tunnel,” Carter replied.

“Good. Run over and hang around outside Barracks 3 until Schultz comes for you. When they ask, you were taking care of LeBeau because he had a head injury and you were in my footlocker when Schultz came looking for Kinch.”

“Got it.”

“Good. Take off. Tiger, Aragorn, Gandalf, get everyone down in the tunnel and don’t come up until we give you the signal.”

“Keep them away from the tunnel entrance as long as you can, and I will ensure that none shall find us until we wish to be found,” Gandalf replied as Boromir hustled Merry and Pippin out the door and Sam gingerly helped Frodo to his feet.

“It’s a deal.”

Aragorn scooped up Frodo and strode quickly across the hut to the tunnel entrance. Legolas, Sam, and Gimli followed, arriving beside Aragorn just as Boromir disappeared down the ladder. Tiger and Gandalf brought up the rear. Meanwhile, Hogan cleared away what little incriminating evidence they had left out while Newkirk bandaged LeBeau’s head and Kinch monitored the debate raging in Klink’s office. Hochstetter loudly proclaimed his suspicion of Carter; Klink asserted tirelessly that no one had ever escaped from Stalag 13; and Schultz protested that Carter couldn’t have left the barracks between roll call and the time Klink asked to see Kinch (“because I would have seen him go out”) and that even if he had escaped after that, he wouldn’t have had time to make it to the site where the SS soldier was killed. It took them about 15 minutes to conclude that they needed to talk to Carter personally, then 15 more to send Schultz to find him and wait for Schultz’s return; Hogan hoped that that had given Gandalf enough time to do whatever it was he had planned to do.

“What were you doing this morning, Sergeant?” the men in Barracks 2 finally heard Hochstetter ask.

“Taking care of LeBeau, sir,” came the immediate reply. “He fell and hit his head.”

“How come I didn’t see you in there when I saw LeBeau earlier?” Schultz frowned.

“I was in Col. Hogan’s footlocker.”

“Whaaa’?” Klink’s confused expression was all too obvious from the sound of his voice.

“What vere you doing in ze footlocker?” Hochstetter wondered.

“Uh, well, I… was backing up thinking about something else, and it was open, and I backed into it, and it knocked my knees out from under me, but instead of being able to sit down on the lid, I ended up inside. And then Schultz came in and I was kinda stuck and couldn’t get out before he came into Col. Hogan’s room, so I just decided it was less embarrassing to hide ’cause I can fit all the way inside it. And that’s what I did.”

Coming from Carter, the explanation was completely plausible.

“Now tell me, Carter, do you have experience with the bow and arrow?” was Hochstetter’s next line of questioning.

“Oh, yeah, lots. I’m part Indian, y’know. Won a lot of trophies back home. But I haven’t really done anything with it for a long time.”

“Do you think you still could shoot well?”

“Gosh, I dunno… they say it’s like riding a bike—once you learn, you don’t forget—but I am awful rusty. And I’d have to have a bow and arrow to shoot with; archery skills aren’t much use without a weapon, y’know. And they’re hard to come by around here.”

“Could you make one, possibly?”

“Well, I could, but you have to have the right kind of wood, the right materials for the bowstring, the fletch, the arrowheads… it’d be awful hard to do with just the stuff you find around a POW camp.”

“Beautiful, isn’t he?” Hogan said appreciatively. Kinch beamed back at him.

“Sketch an arrowhead for me, if you would, please,” Hochstetter urged.

“Oh, okay… d’ya mind my asking what this is all about?” Carter replied with just the right shade of confusion.

“Nothing important; just routine.”

“Okay….” The next few seconds were dead air, with the possible exception of something that could have been static or a pencil scratching across paper.

“Thank you. Can you tell me what sort of tribe would make an arrowhead that looks like this?” Hochstetter presumably handed Carter another sketch.

“No… no, I don’t think I’ve ever seen an arrowhead like that, ’least not among the tribes I know.”

“Thank you, Sergeant Carter. You’ve been most helpful. You are dismissed.”

There was the sound of a door closing.

“ _Er lügt_ ,” spat Hochstetter.

“ _Aber, Herr Major, er erkannte die Pfeilspitze nicht_ ,” Schultz argued.

“ _Das ist mir egal. Er weiß mehr, als er sagte. Wir durchsuchen Baracke 2 nach diesem Pfeil, und ich glaube, wir werden etwas finden!_ ”

Hogan unplugged the coffeepot. “All right, places, everyone, it’s showtime!”

Carter came running in about thirty seconds later. “Here they come, Colonel!”

It was then that they noticed that Sgt. Potowsky, one of the Polish prisoners in Barracks 2, had sacked out on the top bunk above the tunnel. Potowsky was practically narcoleptic, and at times the only way to rouse him was to make loud noise directly beside his ear. The other men sometimes wondered how he had made it into the Polish Air Force.

“How long has Potowsky been up there?” Kinch asked Olsen.

“Oh, ’bout 15 minutes, I’d guess,” Olsen replied.

“So he’s dead to the world by now.”

“Yeah. Why, we expecting company?”

“Yeah, any second now.”

“Oh, boy….”

Olsen started to run over and wake him, but Kinch caught his arm. “Never mind, no time. We just gotta hope nobody notices… or that whatever Gandalf did to the tunnel entrance worked.”

Just then the door opened and Hochstetter, his goons, Klink, and Schultz came in. Everyone scrambled to their feet—everyone except Potowsky, that is.

“Well, Major Hochstetter! Haven’t seen you in a long time,” Hogan greeted the Gestapo agent as he came out of his office. “Social call?”

Hochstetter glowered at Hogan and looked around, doing a double take when he caught sight of Potowsky. “What is zat man doing on the bed asleep?!” he demanded.

“Oh, that is Sgt. Potowsky, Herr Major,” Schultz explained. “He is a very heavy sleeper.”

“Well, wake him up. We will search every inch of this barracks, even if we have to prop him against ze vall while we search that bunk!”

“Jawohl, Herr Major.” Schultz bustled over to the bunk and slapped the ball of his hand against the frame of the top bunk right below Potowsky’s head. “ **POTOWSKY! Wake up!** ” the guard shouted.

Potowsky awoke with a jerk. The tunnel entrance did not open; the system of pulleys and ropes did not even rattle. The men relaxed imperceptibly.

A rather loud moan emanated from Hogan’s office. Newkirk poked his head through the door a moment later.

“Shhh, Schultz, d’ye have to shout so?” Newkirk hissed. “Louis’ still got a  splittin’ ’eadache, and you just made it worse!”

“I’m sorry,” Schultz stage-whispered back, “but I had to wake up Sgt. Potowsky.”

Potowsky, groggily trying to get down from the bunk, turned beet red and shot Newkirk an apologetic and sheepish smile.

The three SS men conducted a rapid but thorough search that turned up nothing. Klink looked vindicated; Hochstetter looked vexed; and Schultz studiously avoided displaying any emotion that might earn him a trip to the Russian front. As soon as the Germans left, the men crowded around the tunnel entrance.

“Why didn’t it open, Colonel?” Olsen frowned. “Schultz hit it in just the right spot. It should have popped open like a girl jumping out of a cake.”

“Nice analogy,” someone remarked.

“I dunno,” Hogan replied to Olsen’s question. “My guess is that Gandalf jammed the mechanism somehow so it wouldn’t open.”

“How could he? It’s not an easy mechanism to jam; I made sure of it,” Kinch retorted.

“Just stand back, okay? Need to give ’em room to get out.”

The men complied, and Hogan reached under the lower bunk and gave three long taps followed by two short ones on the section of floor that covered the entrance.

Nothing happened for about 15 seconds. Then the familiar rattle of wood, rope, and metal filled the room as the tunnel entrance flew open.

Gandalf was first out of the tunnel. “Everything worked out satisfactorily, I trust?” he asked.

“For us, at least,” Hogan grinned. “I think  Hochstetter’s a little upset at not finding Legolas’ arrow anywhere, and they came awfully close to finding the tunnel, but we’re in the clear.”

“Good. Glad to hear it.”

After everyone was back in the barracks and Carter was dispatched to find a cold compress and some mild pain medicine for Frodo, Hogan pulled Gandalf aside. “What _did_ you do to the tunnel entrance?” he asked quietly. “I mean, I’m grateful for whatever it was, but it was like you froze the entire thing, pulleys and all. How’d you do it?”

Gandalf’s eyes twinkled mischievously as he replied, “I believe the saying is ‘That’s for me to know and you to find out.’ Now if you’ll excuse me, Aragorn and I have a patient to tend.”

Gandalf walked away, and Hogan was left shaking his head and chuckling. _I don’t know how much I believe in magic_ , the American thought to himself, _but in one way he’s just like Newkirk: He never tells his secrets._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations
> 
> “Herr Kommandant?”
> 
> “Is it important, Fräulein Hilda? I’m terribly busy with paperwork.”
> 
> “I’m sorry, Herr Kommandant, but Major Hochstetter is here to see you.”
> 
> * * *
> 
> 2\. “Ah, Major Hochstetter! How nice to see you again!”
> 
> “Ja, ja, ja. Heil Hitler.”
> 
> “Heil Hitler! Um… why did you bring Schultz in with you?”
> 
> “Because I’m going to need help from both of you—unfortunately.”
> 
> “Well, then, how can we help you? Cigar?”
> 
> “No, thank you. Klink, one of my men was killed this morning while pursuing a member of the Underground.”
> 
> “Those barbarians!” [literally, “Such monsters!”]
> 
> “We believe that he was shot with an arrow.”
> 
> “What? With an arrow? Are there wild Indians loose in the woods now?”
> 
> “What’s so funny, Sergeant?”
> 
> “Excuse me, Major. I only thought it was funny because we have an Indian here at Stalag 13.”
> 
> “Who? I don’t know of any.”
> 
> “It’s true, Herr Kommandant. His name is Little-fast-and-sure-through-forest-going-deer.”
> 
> “Huh?”
> 
> “Ah… in English the name is Little Deer [. . .].”
> 
> “And who is that, Schultz? I don’t recognize that name.”
> 
> “But you do know him, Herr Kommandant. It’s Sergeant Carter.”
> 
> * * *
> 
> 3\. “He’s lying.”
> 
> “But Major, he didn’t recognize the arrowhead.”
> 
> “I don’t care [more literally, that’s all one to me]. He knows more than he told us. We will search Barracks 2 for this arrow, and I believe we will find something!”


	4. Meanwhile, back at the ranch....

While the POWs prepared for the impending Gestapo search, their visitors bustled about in the tunnels. Boromir set Merry and Pippin to the task of preparing the cot in the radio room for Frodo as soon as their feet touched the floor.

“Aragorn?” Frodo asked as they reached the bottom of the ladder.

“Yes, Frodo?” the Ranger replied.

“Is it just me, or is this room spinning?”

Aragorn tried not to smile at the nonchalant way Frodo phrased the question. “It’s just you.”

“Should I worry?”

“Not yet. If it doesn’t stop spinning after you’ve lain still for a few minutes, then we should worry.”

“All right. Just checking.”

“Come, Boromir,” Gimli said, touching the man’s elbow to get his attention. “Let us stand guard by the tunnel entrance. The last thing we need is for the Enemy to discover us by chance.”

“What? Oh, aye, good idea,” Boromir nodded, sounding somewhat distracted.

“Is aught the matter, Boromir?” Aragorn frowned.

Boromir shook his head twice as if to clear it. “No, no, nothing. No, I suppose my concern for Frodo has set my attention elsewhere.”

“Oh, don’t fret, Mr. Boromir,” Sam interjected. “Strider’ll take care of ’im. And I ’ave seen worse… Jolly Cotton fair cracked ’is skull once when ’e fell out o’ the Party Tree, an’ _’e_ was back on ’is feet in three days.”

“Hobbits have very hard heads,” Gimli commented parenthetically.

Boromir blinked and shook his head again. “Very well, Master Dwarf, let us post our guard.”

As the man and the dwarf moved down the tunnel, Boromir glanced back over his shoulder at Frodo. Only Aragorn, Frodo, and Sam noticed that his line of sight fell, not over the hobbit’s face, but on his chest. None of them said anything. None of them needed to.

Legolas, meanwhile, had seated himself behind the radio and turned his attention to watching Gandalf. The Istar had closed the entrance and now had his staff raised to touch the wood. He gazed intently at the ceiling and muttered something under his breath.

“What is he doing?” Tiger asked Legolas in a whisper.

“I cannot tell,” Legolas whispered back. “I cannot claim to know the mind of Mithrandir. Let us not meddle in the affairs of wizards, though.”

Tiger nodded and slid onto a stool beside him, then took a moment to study him. She suddenly found herself awed by the inner beauty that radiated from the elf, the odd mixture of age and youth that showed on his face, and the noble mien that hinted at both his lineage and his race. This was clearly no mere mortal, she concluded, looking away when she discovered that her heart was racing. It reminded her of the time she had stood gaping in La Ste. Chapelle, the sun turning the stained glass into sparkling jewels while the organist rehearsed Bach’s Cantata No. 80, _A Mighty Fortress Is Our God_ ; she had been almost overwhelmed by the beauty and majesty of the holy place.

“Comfortable now?” Aragorn asked Frodo, tucking the sheet around the hobbit's shoulders.

“As comfortable as I can be,” Frodo smiled wryly.

Sam settled at the foot of the cot as Aragorn drew up a chair. Merry leaned against the wall, and Pippin sat down on the floor, looking distinctly bored.

Aragorn glanced over at Tiger and saw the typical mortal-meets-elf shocked look on her face. Hiding his amusement, he turned to her and said, “Lady Tiger, we would like to know more about our hosts. Could you tell us about them?

Grateful for the distraction, Tiger started off by telling the story of her first meeting with the Heroes and the ease with which they managed to hide a stolen Tiger tank in the rec hall. This reminded Merry of a time when he and Frodo had smuggled a bushel of mushrooms into Brandy Hall and hid them for a week under Pervinca’s bed, which reminded Legolas of a prank he and the sons of Elrond had once pulled on Arwen, and soon the group in the radio room was laughing quietly and sharing all manner of stories.

Aragorn had just finished a story in which he and  Halbarad had returned home from a mission and  Gilraen had jokingly made them eat an entire pot of stew, which had the hobbits shaking with silent laughter, when Gandalf joined them. Chuckling, the wizard moved around the radio table to stand behind Legolas.

“Ah, Gandalf,” Aragorn smiled, wiping a tear off his cheek. “Did you accomplish what you sought to do?”

“I did indeed,” Gandalf returned. “The tunnel entrance will now remain shut until I command it to open. Now, Frodo, see if you can impersonate Bilbo and tell us about that eleventy-first birthday of his.”

“I shall expect constant interruptions,” Frodo replied, looking at his fellow hobbits with a twinkle in his eye.

“And I doubt you will be disappointed… I still remember it quite well, don’t you, Pip?”

“Goodness, yes… I was only ten, but ’ow can you forget a night like that?”

“Didn’t Gandalf catch you two playing with ’is firecrackers?” Sam teased.

And with that, the hobbits were off on a rollicking retelling of the story of Bilbo’s farewell feast, with occasional interjections from Aragorn, who’d heard the story many times himself over the course of the six years Bilbo had been in Rivendell before Aragorn went east to look for Gollum.

Legolas gently touched Gandalf’s sleeve to get his attention. When the wizard bent down to listen, Legolas whispered, “Was this wise? The hobbits may forget their danger and grow loud enough to be heard above.”

Gandalf smiled and shook his head. “Nay, let them forget their danger for a moment. They will not be heard above; I have ensured it. Besides, Frodo still has a headache, does he not? That will help them modulate their volume.”

Legolas looked at him warily for a moment, but since the only response he received was a twinkle, he decided not to press the matter and turned his attention to the story in progress.

* * *

In the emergency tunnel, Gimli sat on the bottom rung of the ladder and rested his hands and chin on the haft of his axe while he watched Boromir sparring with the air. “Sit down, man,” he finally said. “We have no cause to be so anxious.”

Boromir sighed and sheathed his sword. “My apologies, Gimli,” he replied. “I tire of inactivity, that is all. I desire to fight these new enemies among whom we find ourselves, not to skulk underground hoping not to be found.”

Gimli chuckled and stood. “Trust me, my friend, my axe also itches for battle; your sword is not alone. But we must be cautious if we are not to endanger our hosts. It is not easy for a dwarf to sit idle in such circumstances, but if prudence and Gandalf counsel otherwise, I would not rush into battle.”

Boromir blinked.

“What?”

“Were those the words of a dwarf? Truly, Gimli, the elf is beginning to rub off on you!”

Gimli laughed heartily. “Nay, a dwarf can be patient when the need arises. But I suspect that if we accompany Hogan and his men on this mission of theirs, we shall both have ample cause to put our skills to use.”

* * *

So time passed quickly in the tunnels under Stalag 13\. Tiger had just looked at her watch and noted with a start that an hour had gone by when three long knocks followed by two short ones suddenly echoed from the tunnel entrance.

“That is the signal,” Tiger explained. “We can go up now.”

Gandalf moved swiftly to stand under the tunnel entrance. “ _Edro_ _hi ammen!_” he commanded, and the entrance swung open.

Frodo tried to sit up and immediately slumped back against the pillow. “Ooh, my… the room has started spinning again.”

“Well, then, we shall see what we can do once we get you upstairs again,” Aragorn assured him as he scooped the small frame up off the cot.

Gandalf had already ascended the ladder, so Sam hurried ahead of Aragorn in order to lend a hand in getting Frodo out. Merry and Pippin ran to the emergency tunnel to fetch Gimli and Boromir, and Legolas stood aside to let Tiger follow Aragorn.

“Will Frodo be all right?” Tiger asked, frowning in concern.

“Oh, yes,” Aragorn answered. “He simply has a mild concussion. With plenty of rest and a little pain medicine, he should be fine tomorrow.”

“Aragorn is a skilled healer, my lady,” Legolas added. “I have no doubt that he can help Frodo regain his health.”

Beginning to feel overwhelmed again, Tiger hurried up the ladder, anxious to return to the comfortable reality of Hogan and his men. _These are delightful people_ , she thought, _but…._

* * *

“You have _got_ to be kidding.”

Spot Conlon sighed and shrugged, not knowing exactly how to explain the situation to his friends and superiors, who were shooting him identical glares. Upon their return to Headquarters, Jack and David had gone looking for Spot and found him in the radio room, still fuming over the last message from Stalag 13\. “I wish I was. While youse were gone, Hogan radioed and said he didn’t want the Professor dropped in after all.”

Jack sighed and rubbed his forehead as if nursing a headache. “Why didn’t youse radio us and tell us that?”

“’Cause Hogan still wants the code. He thinks. Look, I’m as confused as youse guys. Nothin’ Hogan’s been saying makes any sense. He seems to think he’s got some of Tolkien’s characters with him!”

Jack swore under his breath.

“Colonel, have you been drinking?” David asked with a mixture of amusement and annoyance.

Spot rolled his eyes. “Don’t pull rank on me, Davey. Youse know me well enough to know I don’t come up with nutty stories like that even when I _am_ drunk.”

This time David sighed. “Okay. _You_ go out and explain that there’s been a change of plans and help Race and Mush find a place to put Professor Tolkien up while we wait for Hogan to get his act together. Jack and I will work on figuring out how to tell our impetuous colonel that we don’t have time for him to play games with us. Politely,” he added before Jack could say anything.

Grumbling, Spot saluted and left.

Jack took a deep breath and remarked as calmly as possible, “If Spot _has_ been drinking, I ’spect it’s been _since_ that last message, not before.”

David smiled wryly. “You’ve got a point.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Edro hi ammen_ = Open now for us (according to Hiswelókë’s Sindarin dictionary)
> 
> * * *
> 
> When it comes to sheer beauty, Ste. Chapelle in Paris is one of my favorite cathedrals, although I’ve never had a chance to visit it; just the pictures will take your breath away. There are actually two chapels; the primary color in one is red, and the other is blue. 
> 
> I tried to think of works by a French composer for the organist to play, but when it comes to Baroque organ pieces, you can’t find a better composer than Bach. I think I owe the inspiration for Tiger's reaction to Legolas to Wunderlust's "Molly Halfwits" (which is no longer on FF.n) and boz4PM's "Don't Panic!"—both excellent stories that realistically portray the girl-falls-into-ME plot.
> 
> Gilraen’s prank is based on a true story; my grandmother once set a huge pot of chili on the table and told my dad and his friend that they couldn’t leave the table until they’d eaten all the chili. So they looked at each other and dug in. My grandfather sat there and laughed at them for a while before telling them it was a joke. (This was the first time my dad met my mom's family, so he hadn’t yet learned to know when Granny was joking.)
> 
> Yes, the firecracker remark is a nod to movieverse LOTR. It just seems like the sort of thing bookverse Merry and Pip would have done at that age!


	5. Have we trials and temptations?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: My inspiration for the temptation scenes came primarily from “Wise, Fearless, and Fair” by Philosopher at Large and from the brilliantly insightful stories of marylinusca and Skybright Daye; marylinusca also owns Grandfather White Wolf and the characterizations of Paul “Angry Rabbit” Carter and Marcus Simms.

“Here’s some aspirin,” Carter said, handing the pill bottle to Aragorn. When Aragorn looked at the tablets and frowned, puzzled, Carter explained, “It’s similar to willow bark extract… pain reliever, fever reducer, that kind of thing. It’s a little stronger and a little easier on the stomach than willow bark. It’s all we could find, though.”

Comprehension dawned on Aragorn’s face. “Ah. Thank you, Carter; I think this will do nicely. Could you bring me some hot water?”

Now it was Carter’s turn to look confused. “Why?”

“Well, our people are unused to taking medicines in tablet form. It would be easier for Frodo if I could dissolve one of these tablets and let him drink the solution.”

“Oh. Gotcha. I’ll see what I can find.”

“Thank you.”

Carter grinned shyly and left the room.

Frodo adjusted the cold compress on his head. “I’m not sure which makes my head spin more, the injury or all the changes in this world!”

Aragorn and Gandalf chuckled quietly.

Aragorn looked at the pill bottle again and sighed. “Their system of writing is very different from ours. I wish I could read it to know exactly how much to give you, Frodo.”

“That might not be much help,” Gandalf observed. “Their systems of measurement are also likely to be very different, and making a potion of the purified substance is not the same as making a willow bark infusion. Still, I think your guess of one tablet is wise.”

Aragorn smiled. “My thanks, Gandalf.”

Just then, Carter returned with a steaming mug and a spoon. “Here’s your hot water.”

“Again I thank you, Carter.” Aragorn took the mug and set it on Hogan’s desk, then opened the aspirin bottle and took out a tablet. “Now, ought I to crush this, or will it dissolve easily enough whole?”

Carter shrugged. “I dunno; I’ve never tried to give anyone aspirin this way. I guess it’ll work fine if you put it in whole, but if it doesn’t dissolve very fast, you can try crushing it with the spoon.”

Aragorn nodded and dropped the tablet into the mug. Carter handed him the spoon, and Aragorn stirred the water for a moment to get the aspirin to dissolve. After a moment, he used the back of the spoon to crush the tablet against the side of the mug, and after stirring a short while longer, he looked satisfied.

Frodo propped himself up on one elbow as Aragorn crossed to the bed. “Will it be bitter?” he asked.

“Probably a little, yeah,” Carter nodded, slightly wrinkling his nose in sympathy.

“But likely no worse than willow bark, and it will help the headache,” Aragorn added, handing Frodo the mug. “Be careful; it is still quite hot.”

Frodo gingerly drank the aspirin solution, grimacing a little at the taste. Then he handed the mug back to Aragorn, who returned it and the spoon to Carter.

“It should kick in in about an hour,” Carter informed Frodo.

Frodo smiled back. “Thank you, Carter. I am grateful.”

Aragorn and Gandalf also thanked Carter, and sensing that the young man was inclined to hover, Aragorn gently herded him out of the room, closed the door, and turned out the light.

Frodo felt his eyelids drooping. “Is it safe to sleep, Strider?”

Aragorn smiled as he crossed the room again to close the shutters. “Yes, Frodo, it’s safe. We will wake you in a few hours to make sure you are all right, but you need not fight sleep now. Rest well.”

Frodo simply smiled and allowed himself to doze off.

Once Gandalf and Aragorn were sure Frodo was deeply asleep, they looked at each other and sighed.

“The Ring has awoken,” Aragorn began in a low voice, speaking Sindarin so that if anyone happened to overhear, the conversation would not be easily understood.

“Ah, you did notice,” Gandalf replied in kind. “Once I knew we were no longer in Arda, I had hoped it would not endanger us here.”

“As did we all, I think. But if it is as treacherous here as it was there….”

“I know. We endanger our hosts by our presence. The Ring could easily draw the attention of these Gestapo men from whom we hid earlier; apparently it nearly caused them to find the entrance to the tunnel earlier.”

“It might also corrupt Hogan or his men. I do not think any of us have escaped being tempted by the Ring, and I doubt that they will escape facing this temptation, either.”

The Dúnadan and the Istar exchanged a look that spoke volumes.

“What should we do, then?” Aragorn continued. “I do not see any way for us to return to Middle-earth, and we know of no other safe haven here.”

“There is also their mission to consider. The longer we are here, the more I believe we are meant to help them with it. Therefore, we cannot simply leave.” Gandalf paused and sighed. “I can see no other choice. We must tell them of their danger and see what happens.”

“Dare we trust them that far?” Aragorn asked skeptically, remembering Boromir’s odd reaction.

Gandalf shrugged eloquently. “I believe they are good men. Remember, too, that they tested us before telling us their great secret for fear that we would betray them. I think we are safe in reciprocating that trust.”

Aragorn sighed and nodded. “Very well. How soon should we do this?”

“As soon as possible. I believe Hogan and Kinch are downstairs doing something with the radio; when they return, we should tell them all at once.”

“Agreed.”

Suddenly both stiffened, sensing something wrong. A moment later, Legolas silently slipped into the room, knife drawn.

“Someone is prowling around outside,” the elf reported quietly. “Newkirk has gone to see what is happening.”

Sam, whom LeBeau had convinced to leave his master’s side long enough to get some lunch, eased through the door shortly after Legolas’ arrival. Without saying a word to anyone, he made his way around the bed and sat down on the footlocker.

Tension mounted as footsteps rounded the corner of the building and approached the office window. Aragorn and Gandalf drew their swords partway. Frodo began to act as though his dreams were troubled, and Sam moved swiftly to the bed to hush him and still his thrashings. Frodo’s hand began to move toward the Ring, and Sam caught it and held it tightly.

“Oy!” Newkirk suddenly shouted.

The ominous footsteps stopped.

“’Allo, ’allo, ’allo! Sgt. Richter! Lookin’ for something, mate?”

“That is no concern of yours,” a German-sounding voice replied icily.

“I’d be glad to ’elp you look for i’ if you’d like,” Newkirk continued.

After a tense pause, the ominous footsteps began moving away and faded into the distance.

Newkirk coughed loudly under the window and walked back around the corner of the building. Everyone in Hogan’s quarters relaxed, and Frodo’s breathing became regular and deep once more.

Sam turned a questioning gaze on Aragorn.

“It is safe now,” Aragorn nodded in answer. “Go back and finish your meal.”

Sam smiled gratefully. “Thank you, Strider.”

As Sam quietly left the room, Legolas sheathed his knife and sighed. “That was close,” he whispered in Sindarin.

Aragorn nodded. “Yes. You are right, Gandalf; we must tell them. After this incident, they deserve to know, and if I judge Hogan rightly, he will demand to know why this Richter was drawn hither.”

Legolas looked from Man to Maia and back. “The Ring?”

“We fear so,” Gandalf replied.

Legolas sighed and looked at the small figure on the bed. “I will inform Hogan and his men that you wish to speak to them as soon as he returns from the radio room.”

Aragorn placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder and gave it a friendly squeeze. “ _Le hannon, Legolas_.”

Legolas smiled and left as quietly as he came.

Hogan had known he was in trouble when Gen. Jacobs answered his call on the radio. He was also very glad he’d taken a moment to work out precisely what he needed from London, and especially from Professor Tolkien, before having Kinch call. At the moment, though, he was beginning to get a headache from trying to figure out how to phrase his apology.

“We are fighting a war here, you know,” Jacobs finished his brief tirade.

Hogan sighed. “Look, Goldilocks, I’m sorry my messages haven’t made sense. It’s a madhouse over here, and you truly would not believe what’s going on.”

A grumble in the background sounded like Gen. Sullivan muttering something. Hogan’s heart sank even further.

“Did you contact Tiger?”

“Yes.”

“Do you still need that code?”

“Yes. In Elvish, if possible.” Hogan then rattled off a list of terms that needed to be included. “And any other phrases he thinks might be helpful,” he concluded.

“Gotcha. How soon do you need this?”

“As soon as possible… by tonight, if you can.”

“Roger, Papa Bear. Anything else?”

“No. That’s it.”

“Roger. Over and out.”

Kinch shut off the radio, and Hogan blew the air out of his cheeks.

“Can’t exactly blame them for being upset,” Kinch commented.

Hogan rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. “Yeah, I know. I would be in their shoes. Wouldn’t believe our story, either, if I hadn’t been here all this time. And how was I to know Conlon would call in Gen. Jacobs and Gen. Sullivan?”

* * *

In London, David set down the microphone with a sigh. “Well, at least he’s got his act together,” he remarked.

“Crazy kid,” Jack grumbled. “If he thinks he’s got a mess on his hands, he hasn’t seen this place lately.”

“Never a dull moment, that’s for sure.”

The stenographer handed David the list of words Hogan had dictated to them. “At least he’s finally doing something, though,” David continued with a grimace, looking first at the list and then at the clouds building outside.

“Which is more than we can say on our end,” Jack agreed.

David smiled wryly at that. “Well, if Papa Bear’s shenanigans don’t last forever, this weather won’t, either. C’mon. If he really does need this soon, we’d better get the Professor working on it right away.”

“Elvish, huh?” Jack shook his head as they left the communications room. “Be interesting to see how easy it’ll be.”

* * *

LeBeau came down the ladder into the radio room. “Something strange is going on, _colonel_ ,” he reported.

Hogan frowned. “Why? What happened?”

“Newkirk just caught Sgt. Richter snooping around the building. He was just about to look into your office.”

Now Kinch frowned. “Richter’s not supposed to be in this part of the camp. He’s guarding the arsenal.”

“Did he give Newkirk any reason for his being here?” Hogan asked.

LeBeau shook his head. “He just gave him that stupid _Boche_ glare and left. He said it was none of his business.”

“Where’d he go?”

“I’m not sure. Newkirk just came in, and he’s watching the door.”

Hogan sighed. “Okay. Let’s go.”

The three men filed back up the ladder into the hut. Legolas was waiting on Carter’s bunk, and he stood as soon as Hogan climbed out of the tunnel entrance.

“ _Mae govannen, hir-nin_ ,” Legolas said with a bow. “Aragorn and Gandalf would like to speak with you and your men about a matter of great urgency.”

Hogan’s eyebrows went up at this formal greeting, but before he could respond, Schultz started shouting for roll call. “Yeah, sure, Legolas,” Hogan replied distractedly, grabbing his hat from the table as the men began hurrying outside. “We’ll meet in the tunnel after roll call. And be sure to stay away from the windows!” he added as he dashed out the door.

With an inscrutable expression, Legolas sat back down on the bunk.

“What’s roll call like, Boromir?” Pippin asked.

As Boromir tried to describe his earlier experience to the three hobbits and dwarf seated around him, Aragorn opened the door to Hogan’s quarters. Ducking past the windows, Legolas crossed the room to speak to him.

“After roll call?” Aragorn asked in a low voice.

Legolas nodded and replied in Sindarin. “In the tunnel, he said. I suppose that offers the most protection from enemy ears.”

Aragorn nodded also. “We would like you to join us. Sam will want to stay with Frodo, of course, and it would be wise for one of the other men to stand guard as well.”

“The man called Thomas has an honest face,” Legolas replied. “I believe he can be trusted. Perhaps Lady Tiger ought also to remain with them.”

Aragorn glanced over to the corner where Tiger sat, trying to hide. “That will be her choice. She would be less easily found that way, but with the Ring nearby, her danger might be increased. And she might prefer to stay with the other Edain; she seems to find us unnerving.”

Legolas chuckled.

“Merry and Pippin ought to remain here in the main room, but with Boromir and Gimli present to watch them so that they do not become careless. They will need a way of escape should Hochstetter return, though.”

Legolas looked up and studied the rafters for a moment. “They might be able to hide above,” he suggested. “Or, since four men will be downstairs with us, they could lie on a few of the beds and hide under the blankets. These men appear to be experts at this kind of deception, though, so I do not fear; Olsen will be able to hide them quickly, I think.”

Aragorn nodded. “Good. I concur.”

Legolas listened for a moment. “They have almost finished. Schultz is giving his report.” After another pause, he reported, “Hogan is reporting the incident with Richter to… Klink, I believe. Richter was supposed to be in a different part of the camp.”

“Thank the Valar,” Aragorn smiled. “That ought to keep _that_ enemy away for a time.”

Legolas returned the smile, then listened a moment longer. “They return,” he said at last.

Aragorn turned back into the room, and Gandalf came to the door immediately. At the same time, Legolas beckoned to Sam, who drained his cup and left the table.

“We need to meet with Col. Hogan and his men,” Aragorn explained quietly when Sam joined them. “We shall be down in the tunnel if you need us, but we will ask one of the other men to stay with you and Frodo in case anything more should happen.”

Sam nodded solemnly. “Don’t you worry about Mr. Frodo, sir. We’ll take good care of him.”

His elders smiled at that, and Gandalf stood aside to let Sam past. Then he and Aragorn moved into the main room and shut the door behind them just as Hogan and his men began to return. Aragorn beckoned to Thomas as the prisoner came in.

“Thomas, would you mind staying with Sam and Frodo while we meet with Col. Hogan?” Aragorn asked. “They may need protection if the Gestapo returns.”

“Sure! No problem,” Thomas smiled. “Glad to help out.”

“We thank you,” Gandalf replied.

Thomas had just gone into Hogan’s office when Hogan returned. Aragorn whispered instructions to the members of the Fellowship still seated at the table, while Hogan gave Olsen and Marcus Simms the task of holding down the fort. Sparing a smile for Tiger, Hogan then moved around the table to open the tunnel entrance, and the others who were meeting with him followed him down the ladder.

“You have taken us into your confidence,” Gandalf began once they were all assembled downstairs and Olsen had closed the tunnel behind them. “Now we must take you into ours. Tell me, how much do you know of our mission?”

Carter frowned. “You’ve got another mission?”

Aragorn nodded. “I believe we may have mentioned to you that we are on a quest—or were before we suddenly found ourselves here. Have you learned anything more about it?”

Hogan and Kinch exchanged a glance. “Not much,” Kinch replied. “The information we got wasn’t completely accurate… referred to you as Trotter, not Strider.”

Aragorn raised an eyebrow at that. Legolas snickered.

“All we know for sure is that it has something to do with a magic ring,” Hogan continued. “Possibly the one Bilbo picked up on his adventure.”

Gandalf sighed deeply. “In that your information is accurate. It is Bilbo’s ring that is involved, although it was not his in the beginning. Frodo is taking it into Mordor to cast it into the fires of Mount Doom so that it will be destroyed.”

“What? Why?” the Heroes chorused.

“Many years ago, the Dark Lord Sauron donned a fair disguise and gained the confidence of the Elven-smiths of Eregion,” Aragorn explained. “Together they worked to create the Rings of Power. A number of these rings were given to the rulers of the three races—Elves, Men, and Dwarves—and conferred upon the bearers the power to rule, along with other powers corresponding to the disposition of each race. The Elven-rings Celebrimbor forged alone, and they were not tainted by Sauron’s influence; but in secret, Sauron forged the mightiest of the rings, with the power to rule all the others and also to rule all of Middle-earth.”

Gandalf quietly recited:

_Three Rings for the Elven-kings under the sky,  
Seven for the Dwarf-lords in their halls of stone,  
Nine for Mortal Men doomed to die,  
One for the Dark Lord on his dark throne  
In the Land of Mordor where the shadows lie.  
One Ring to rule them all, one Ring to find them,  
One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them  
In the Land of Mordor where the shadows lie._

“Sauron lost the One Ring in battle,” Aragorn continued, ignoring the involuntary shudders of his audience. “My ancestor Isildur cut it from his hand and thus vanquished him. But though he was urged to destroy it at once and secure Sauron’s defeat, Isildur refused and claimed the Ring as wergild for his father Elendil, whom Sauron had slain. But the Ring betrayed Isildur to his death, and it was lost for many centuries.”

“Until it was found by a young Stoor named Déagol,” Gandalf went on. “Stoors are related to Hobbits, you understand. Déagol and his cousin Sméagol were fishing on the Anduin, and Déagol happened to discover the Ring in the river, not far from where Isildur had fallen. Sméagol was seized by desire for the Ring, and he murdered Déagol to gain it. But eventually the Stoors drove him out, and he disappeared into the Misty Mountains, where the Ring ate at his mind and his soul….”

“And turned him into Gollum,” Hogan murmured.

Gandalf smiled approvingly. “You judge correctly, Hogan. Yes, Sméagol did become Gollum. And it is this very Ring which Bilbo found in the darkness when he was lost under the Misty Mountains, and Gollum did not know he had lost it until he sought to use it to escape the duty imposed upon him as the loser of the Riddle-game, namely showing Bilbo the way out.”

“But the book said that Gollum promised Bilbo the Ring as a present and that when Gollum discovered it was gone, Bilbo made him show him the way out instead,” Hogan frowned.

“I know,” Gandalf sighed. “Very unlike Bilbo, to lie like that—and to preserve the lie in writing. I disbelieved him from the start, you know. And at last he did tell me the truth, and he confided in Frodo as well before he left the Shire. I would not be surprised if corrected versions of Bilbo’s memoirs are published here in time.”

“That lie was one sign of the Ring’s identity, was it not, Mithrandir?” Legolas asked.

“Yes,” Gandalf nodded. “Bilbo was such an honest hobbit in so many ways; it troubled me that he could be corrupted by a ring in that way. There were other signs, too; his obsession of sorts with the Ring, the fact that he had not aged outwardly but was beginning to feel ‘thin and stretched,’ and his reluctance to leave the Ring behind, among other things. But it was not until last year that I knew for certain.

“By that time, Bilbo had left the Shire for good, leaving the Ring and everything else to Frodo. Also by that time, Sauron had returned to Mordor and was searching for the Ring; he had even captured Gollum and learned the two words that most endangered Frodo: _Shire_ and _Baggins_. He immediately sent his servants to regain the Ring from ‘Baggins.’ I warned Frodo as soon as I could, but he was reluctant to leave before autumn; as it was, he barely made it out of the Shire unharmed, and he was very nearly killed when the Enemy’s servants caught up with him before he reached Rivendell.”

“The day may come when our tale will reach this world in full,” Aragorn cut in. “But to cut a long story short, Frodo bore the Ring to Rivendell, where a council of Elves, Dwarves, and Men decided that the Ring could not safely be hidden nor used; our only option was to carry it to Mount Doom to destroy it, and in so doing to destroy Sauron’s power forever. Frodo had already suffered greatly on the journey to Rivendell, but he nevertheless volunteered to bear the Ring to Mordor; and we, his eight companions, have volunteered to go with him as far as possible and to aid him as much as we can.”

“How or why our journey has brought us here, we do not know,” Gandalf continued. “But it appears that the Ring has lost none of its power between our world and yours. In Middle-earth, the Ring attracts evil; we believe this is why this Sgt. Richter was searching outside the building. If this is true, our very presence endangers you. However, this is not our only danger. The Ring can corrupt the hearts of Men and Elves… and even Wizards. It may still possess the power to rule many nations. I do not need to tell you what would happen if it fell into the wrong hands. And to be honest, those wrong hands might even be your own.”

“You have proven worthy hosts until now,” Legolas stated. “You have greeted us with hospitality and have not betrayed our presence to our common enemy.”

“Yet you had no knowledge of our great secret,” Aragorn continued. “You have not confided all of your thoughts to us, Col. Hogan, which is the mark of a wise leader. Yet we also are leaders, and we must know what you now intend toward us.”

“We’re gonna help, aren’t we?” Carter asked, frowning. “Y’know, hide the Ring down here until we find you a way home?”

“We thank you for your valiant offer, Carter, but it may not be such a simple decision,” Aragorn countered. “We do not know what the Ring would do here, even if you were to take it from us for safe-keeping. And it is difficult to keep the Ring unused; Frodo himself cannot always resist its temptation alone.”

“The Wise of Middle-earth refused to take this Ring,” Legolas interjected.

“Not even to employ its power to defeat the Enemy,” Gandalf concluded.

The Heroes stared at Gandalf and at each other as the implication sank in, becoming almost an unspoken challenge. Would they take the Ring and use it to end the war?

* * *

The corner of Hogan’s mouth twitched upward as he considered the possibilities. Finally, a chance to end it all so _everyone_ could go home. Once he took out Hitler, there’d be no reason for anyone to stay in Stalag 13. Schultz could have his toy factory back; the guys could all go home; Klink would no longer be his concern; no more worrying about the Gestapo, no more lying and manipulating, no more skulking and hiding and trying not to get shot. No more loss of life. He could finally give Germany back to the _real_ Germans—people like Schultz and Langenscheidt who served only because their country was at war, and people like the Underground who were trying to save their country from the cancer of Nazi ideology. He’d be hailed as a hero, a savior. Colonel Robert E. Hogan, the man who saved Europe!

So why did his instincts tell him it was all a crock?

It wouldn’t be fair to the men, for one thing. Sure, when he was given all the credit for past victories, he made sure that the men got their due; he couldn’t pull off his crazy schemes on his own, and he knew it. But that wouldn’t be the case if he used the Ring; it _would_ be all his own doing, and it would likely mean leaving the men behind. He couldn’t help remembering how sad and disappointed the men had been when he’d accepted the order to go home. His men and his command meant the world to him, and he to them; he couldn’t abandon them for ultimate power.

Besides, he’d be exceeding orders. Sure, orders were to “use every means possible to harass and injure the enemy,” but that didn’t necessarily mean ending the war by himself. Sure, there were times when circumstances required disobeying or exceeding orders, but those circumstances were rare; and despite the number of lives he could save by doing this, the situation just didn’t seem to fit the definition. Plus, he couldn’t imagine any of his superiors greeting the news with unbridled enthusiasm. He’d heard rumblings from London about something called Operation Overlord, and while Gen. Eisenhower would doubtless be grateful that no one would have to die invading France, he could just hear Patton exploding about the “upstart colonel”—and carrying the day. And what would he do, use the Ring to make them let him off? Hogan snorted. _As Newkirk would say, not bloody likely_.

And what _would_ happen to Germany? It’s not enough just to liberate a country; it has to be stabilized and given a new government that can actually deal with the aftermath of a war like this one—not like the Weimar Republic, which really couldn’t handle the transition from monarchy to democracy. Liberating Germany would mean shouldering that responsibility himself, wouldn’t it? Could he really do something like that? Not with the Ring, he couldn’t; he’d end up forcing people to do things his way, which (he had to admit) wasn’t always the right way. There were many other cooler, wiser heads than his that would be much better suited to the task. And they were almost all generals.

_No_ , Hogan thought with a shake of his head. _It’s a quick fix, but quick fixes don’t usually work as well as they’re believed to. Besides, Eisenhower would kill me if I jeopardized Overlord._

* * *

A single thought rose to the fore of Kinch’s mind with a speed that almost made him blink. _Revenge_.

Racism was bad enough back home, and Detroit wasn’t even that bad compared to the Deep South. But at least the Klan didn’t have the power to make their views the law of the land—the ones that went beyond Jim Crow, anyway. Hitler did, and he was making life a living hell for anyone who wasn’t Aryan. He’d heard the rumors about the death camps, and he had a hunch that the truth was worse than rumor. He knew firsthand how vicious the Nazis could be; he and Baker and Marcus Simms sometimes compared the scars from the beatings they’d received when they were captured, and quiet Marcus had been shocked into swearing when Baker told them that the monsters who’d questioned him had almost broken his hands before a superior intervened.

With the Ring, Kinch thought, he could make them pay. He’d get back at every last one of the Krauts who’d looked at him with disgust just because his skin was dark. He’d hunt down the skunks who’d almost maimed Baker. He’d hang Nietzsche’s sister by her heels for twisting the theory of the _Supermensch_ to fit Nazi ideology. He’d beat Hitler to a bloody pulp. He’d show them….

Suddenly, in his mental image, a battered Hitler turned to the terrified Hitler Youth who were standing nearby with a look that clearly said, “I told you so.”

Horrified, Kinch let his mental fists drop. _I’d show them they were right. I’d show them that blacks really are devils._

It was all he could do to keep himself from weeping openly as he prayed for forgiveness for his murderous hatred. The Ring wasn’t worth taking if it would turn him into a monster like that.

* * *

Newkirk’s eyes glinted. Oh, he’d make Hitler pay, all right. He’d make them all pay for what they’d done to London, to England, to so many of his mates who’d died or were captured. He’d knock Himmler into next week for everyone who’d been tormented by the Gestapo. He’d make Goering find out what life was like in prison, without pricey cigars or gourmet food or fine wine to keep him fat. He’d tie Goebbels in knots for the trick Berlin Betty had used to make him nearly refuse to complete a mission. He’d make ’em all pay. He’d make sure all his chums were free and safe and happy. Oh, they’d have a grand time… _he’d_ have a grand time… parades, parties, knighthood, personal thanks from the King, girls, girls, girls….

And then what?

Newkirk suddenly realized that he didn’t know how to live like a hero. He was just a scrappy kid from London; how would he fit in to high society? Sure, he could use the Ring to _make_ people like him, but what was the good of that? If people don’t like a chap for who he is, power won’t make them real friends. Not like his mates here, who never _really_ cared if he did like brown bread or didn’t care about fancy cooking; sure, he and LeBeau had their spats about cuisine and culture, but both of them knew that friendship didn’t depend on that sort of thing.

 _We few, we happy few, we band of brothers_. The words of England’s greatest playwright suddenly came to mind as Newkirk thought of his friends and co-conspirators here in the tunnel. It was true; his brothers in arms had become like family. Any power that would change that wasn’t worth having, and any society that wouldn’t accept someone like the Governor or Kinch or silly Andrew or even little Louis wasn’t worth his time.

* * *

Freedom for _la belle France_. An end to the persecutions of his people. Sweet, sweet revenge on the dirty _Boche_ and an end to all things German. Such were the thoughts that filled the mind of Louis LeBeau, who gloried in the thoughts of using the Ring to drive the Nazis out of France altogether.

A sudden image of Schultz’s stricken face began to remind LeBeau of reality. The Frenchman hated Germans with a passion, but if he was honest with himself, he did have a soft spot for the toymaker who was forced to guard him but who seldom interfered with the Heroes’ plans. And there was Langenscheidt, who wasn’t such a bad kid despite being a German. And then there were the people in the Underground, friends and allies… would it be fair to them to destroy the homeland they were fighting to free as surely as the Resistance was trying to free France?

And what of the Allies? Certainly, France was the greatest country in the world (he thought with a glow of pride), but as ambivalent as the French had always been toward America and Britain, LeBeau had to admit that those countries—and others—had worked hard for years to resist Hitler, and rumor had it that they would soon be invading France and working with the Free French to liberate his homeland. Could he be such an ingrate as to ignore their work and claim victory all for himself and for France?

Finally, as he wavered, he looked at his fellow spies. _Le colonel_ was a genius. So was Carter, although he could also foul things up royally from time to time. Newkirk… well, Newkirk _was_ English, but they’d come to form an odd sort of friendship through the years at Stalag 13. And Kinch? LeBeau had never had a friend about whom he cared so fiercely.

Could he really leave these men behind to suffer while he reveled in victory?

The voice in his head that had prompted the visions assured him that the others wouldn’t suffer, that he would be helping them as well, and that they would be grateful for his deeds. But the practical side of LeBeau had finally reasserted itself, and he knew that such a thing was impossible. Maybe if General de Gaulle ordered him home, he would go; but until then, his place was here, and not even the power to rule the world could prompt him to leave.

* * *

Carter frowned as visions of becoming the sole liberator of Europe bombarded his mind. It seemed like he’d seen or heard this kind of story before… but when?

As he searched his memory, he thought he recalled Grandfather White Wolf telling the story as he and his cousin Paul—also known as Angry Rabbit Who Has Thorn in Cottontail—sat listening beside the campfire. Someone had been given a gift that promised power beyond imagining. The memory was so faint that he couldn’t remember all of the details, but one name suddenly jumped out at him.

Coyote. The gift was from Coyote, and it wreaked havoc.

 _No wonder they call the Devil Coyote,_ he thought anew, pushing aside all thought of taking the Ring. _Thank you, Lord, for having Grandfather tell us that story. I’m not gonna touch any gift that comes from Coyote, not even if it’s a diamond the size of the world._

* * *

“Well?” asked Gandalf quietly, breaking the reflective silence.

As one, the Heroes shook their heads. “No.”

“Meanin’ no disrespect, gents,” Newkirk added.

“It’s not like they were offering it to us as a gift, Newkirk,” Kinch noted.

Carter shook his head emphatically. “It _is_ a gift… a gift from Coyote. I will not take it.”

Man, Maia, and Elf blinked at the statement, which was like a reverse echo of Boromir’s sentiment at the Council of Elrond.

“ _Qu’est que ce_ Coyote?” asked LeBeau.

“Coyote the Trickster… he’s a character who comes into a lot of the old Sioux legends. He’s a devil who takes many shapes, but he’s usually a coyote. Coyotes are related to wolves,” he added before anyone could ask.

Aragorn, Legolas, and Gandalf shared a look. “Just like Sauron,” Aragorn murmured.

Carter looked up at him sharply. “What?”

“In the First Age, when Sauron’s power was greater, he was able to wear many guises,” Aragorn explained. “He had many werewolves in his command, and at times he himself took the form of a wolf.”

“Our Wargs are not skin-changers,” Gandalf added, anticipating the question. “I am right in thinking that your werewolves are sometimes man, sometimes wolf, am I not?” At the Heroes’ nods, he continued, “Such is not the case with ours. Wargs are spirits—demons, I think you would call them here—who chose to be incarnated as wolves. A Warg is much more dangerous than an ordinary wolf, but it can be slain; it is much harder to rid Sauron of his flesh unless he willingly abandons it.”

“His defeats have stripped him of much of his power,” Legolas pointed out, “and now he can take only the form of the Dark Lord. Still, your point may be valid, Carter. Your Coyote may have much in common with Sauron.”

“You are indeed wise, friend Carter,” Aragorn smiled.

Carter ducked his head and blushed. “Aw, shucks,” he mumbled with an embarrassed smile.

“That Ring’s not safe ’ere, though,” Newkirk remarked. “The sooner we get you lot home, the better.”

“But in the meantime, we’re glad to extend our hospitality, and we’ll do everything we can to keep you safe,” Hogan added.

“Colonel, do you think we ought to have someone guarding Frodo while he has to stay above ground?” Kinch asked.

“Good idea,” Hogan nodded. “How long do you think that’ll be, Aragorn?”

“He should be well enough tomorrow to stay down here,” Aragorn replied.

“Okay. We can work out a schedule upstairs; then we’ll need to get to work fitting uniforms and such.”

Everyone expressed agreement, and Hogan knocked on the pipes to get Olsen’s attention. A moment later the ladder descended, and the group hurried upstairs again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Le hannon, Legolas_ = Thank you, Legolas.
> 
>  _Mae govannen, hir-nin_ = Greetings, my lord.
> 
> * * *
> 
> Lots of little points about stuff mentioned in this chapter:
> 
>   * Brief technical explanation: Willow bark extract is salicylic acid, of which aspirin is an acetic ester; aspirin is neither as bitter nor as acidic as plain salicylic acid, which makes it safer to use. I suspect WWII-era aspirin was buffered, but I don’t know. 
>   * Professor Tolkien did genuinely train as a cryptographer, but he was never called to service. It’s just as well for RL that he wasn’t, since he was working hard on LOTR at the time, but it seems a shame in this AU to waste an unbreakable code. The idea is also partially inspired by the stories of the Code Talkers, the Navajo Marines whose code was never broken by the Japanese. 
>   * Because Tolkien hadn’t yet conceived of the story of _The Lord of the Rings_ when writing _The Hobbit_ and didn’t intend for Bilbo’s adventures to be a major part of his legendarium, the ’37 edition of _The Hobbit_ has a different version of “Riddles in the Dark” than is found in the current edition. Originally, Gollum had promised Bilbo the Ring as a prize for winning the Riddle-game, and Bilbo kept quiet about finding it and made Gollum show him the way out instead; once the Ring became more than just a simple magic ring in Tolkien’s writings, _The Hobbit_ was revised and the original story was re-imagined as a lie told by Bilbo to establish his right to the Ring. 
>   * According to one of my former German professors, who grew up in the Berlin area during the war years, Nietzsche’s original theory of the _Supermensch_ had nothing to do with racial superiority. After his death, his sister and brother-in-law, who were Nazis, interpreted Nietzsche’s works in a way that reinforced the party line. Having never had the inclination to read Nietzsche, I’m taking Frau H’s word for it. 
>   * If someone knows of a real story in which Coyote gives someone a gift that causes trouble, please let me know so I can read it and revise this. It seems like there ought to be such a story, but since I don’t know a lot of Sioux lore, I didn’t have any specifics to cite. 
> 

> 
> Many, many thanks to Mum’s The Word for her help with this chapter and the ones to follow; she’s been a huge help with brainstorming and research, as well as being a great beta.


	6. Meanwhile, upstairs....

With an affectionate smile, Thomas watched Sam smooth Frodo’s blanket and gingerly feel his forehead for any sign of fever. The soldier sat down on Hogan’s footlocker, and Sam scooted down to the foot of the bunk.

“Do you have younger siblings, Sam?” Thomas asked quietly.

“Only my sister Marigold,” Sam replied. “I’m the youngest but one.”

Thomas nodded. “I just wondered, seeing the way you care for Frodo.”

“Well, I’m a gardener, sir. I suppose caring for any living thing gives you experience dealing with others. And I’ve looked after Mr. Frodo plenty before this.”

Thomas blinked. “How old are you?”

“I’m 39, sir, and Mr. Frodo’s 50. I know he doesn’t look it,” Sam added when Thomas’ mouth fell open. Catching himself before he could reveal the true reason for Frodo’s youthful appearance, he continued, “The Bagginses were always well-preserved. Mr. Bilbo, now, he never looked a day over fifty, even when he turned eleventy-one.”

“And here I thought you were children!” Thomas exclaimed, still stunned.

Sam chuckled.

“I guess one reason why is that you remind me so much of my cousin John. He loves to help around the house, and he’s good with animals and kids. He’s still in school, but I expect he’ll either go to medical school or take holy orders.”

Sam frowned. “Holy orders? What are they?”

Thomas thought for a moment. “Well, basically, when a person takes holy orders, he swears to dedicate his life to serving God through chastity, obedience, and poverty. Some people who do this join a monastic order, and some who can’t do that still associate themselves with an order as lay members. But as much as John loves people, I expect he’ll become a priest.” He chuckled. “John Francis Patrick Mulcahy. We sometimes joke that with a name like that, he’s bound to be a saint!”

“What’s a priest?” Sam asked, bewildered by all the strange terms.

Thomas was somewhat taken aback. “A priest is someone who goes between God and His people and who watches out for their well-being.”

Sam thought hard for a moment. “I think the king does that— _did_ that, I should say. We haven’t had a king in a long time, and I don’t remember that much about our history.”

Thomas blinked again, trying to reconcile this concept of royal priesthood with what he knew about English history.

“Of course, it wasn’t the same in Gondor and Arnor as it was in Númenor, where they had the Mountain and prayed there three times a year…” Sam continued, his brows knitted in concentration.

That remark made the whispers that these strangers were from a different world suddenly ring true for Thomas. “Well, I hope your king comes back soon,” he smiled, not knowing quite what else to say.

“Thank you, Mr. Thomas. So do we,” replied Sam.

* * *

Sgt. Richter’s normally proud shoulders sagged as Klink glared at him. “I have no excuse, Herr Kommandant,” he sighed, answering Klink in German. “I know I should not have left my post. Something just… _drew_ me to those barracks. I cannot explain it, and I do not understand it.”

Klink frowned. “Something drew you?”

“ _Ja_. It was like a voice told me to search that area—only not quite that concrete.”

“Why would whatever it was attract _your_ attention? Schultz is guarding those barracks.”

“I do not know. It does not make sense.”

“No, it doesn’t.” Klink placed his hands on his desk and stood. “Well, Richter, I am glad you decided not to deny your guilt. And since you are unable to resist whatever drew your attention, I am restricting you to your quarters until the matter is cleared up. Cpl. Langenscheidt will take over your duties in the meantime.”

Richter bowed his head dejectedly. “ _Jawohl, Herr Kommandant_.”

Klink strode to the door, opened it, and beckoned to Schultz. “Schultz, please escort Richter to his quarters and assign Cpl. Schneider to guard his door. Then assign Cpl. Langenscheidt to the arsenal and return at once.”

Schultz saluted. “ _Jawohl, Herr Kommandant!_ ”

Richter pulled himself together and saluted, then left with Schultz.

Klink sat down at his desk and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. Something strange was happening; of that he had no doubt. The remarkable makeup job on Kinch; the mysterious death of the SS man— _Amazing how an autopsy can determine the type of weapon used to kill a man_ , Klink mused—and the subsequent annoyance of Hochstetter; and now this incident with Richter… was it all a coincidence, or were these events all connected?

_Well, we’ll find out_ , Klink concluded, and he sat back to wait for Schultz to return.

Meanwhile, Richter kept on a brave face as long as he was in sight of the prisoners. Once he and Schultz rounded the corner to the guards’ barracks, however, he let the façade drop, and his despondency was plain once more.

“What’s wrong with you, Richter? You’ve been in trouble before,” observed Schultz.

“Yes, but always before it was Col. Hogan’s fault,” Richter replied miserably. “This time I have no one to blame but myself. I have failed in my duty.”

Schultz, understandably worried, took Richter’s gun and searched his room for anything that Richter could use to harm himself before leaving Cpl. Schneider on guard outside.

* * *

None of Hogan’s men were quite sure whether Tiger or Hilda stood the best chance of becoming Mrs. Robert E. Hogan after the war, but to be safe, they instituted an unspoken hands-off policy toward both of them. Sure, they might whistle at Hilda in the line of duty or pretend to be in love with Tiger on a mission, but since the last men who got fresh with either woman came very close to being “shot while escaping,” the other prisoners had long ago decided not even to fantasize about either one. As a result, the men had formed real friendships with Tiger, although some were closer to her than others.

As everyone settled in after noon roll call, Olsen spotted Tiger in the corner and thought she looked lonely. So he walked over and sat down beside her.

“This is madness,” Tiger sighed, watching Merry and Pippin play gin while Boromir and Gimli looked on.

“I think we’re all a little rattled,” Olsen confided to her. “It’s not every day nine strangers out of the Middle Ages just appear out of nowhere.”

“And Legolas… I don’t know what it is about him, but….”

“He’s an elf,” Olsen shrugged, as if that were the only explanation needed.

Tiger sighed again. “I will be glad when things get back to normal!”

“Ah, what’s the fun of being normal?” Olsen winked, then gave her a friendly side hug and a smile to let her know he understood.

Pippin pulled the card from Merry’s forehead and discarded one of his own. “Gin.”

Merry gave his cousin an amused glare.

“Hey, would you guys like some coffee?” Olsen offered, standing and moving back toward the table where the visitors were seated.

“What’s coffee?” the hobbits asked in unison.

“Well…” Olsen hesitated, unsure how to explain the concept. “It’s a drink. There’s a certain kind of bean that grows in the Near East, and if you roast it, grind it up, and brew it like tea, you get coffee. It’s a lot stronger than tea, and it’s kinda bitter if you drink it black. It helps to put cream in it, but I’m afraid we don’t have any cream.”

“Is that what’s in that pot?” Merry nodded toward the coffeepot on the stove. “It sure smells nice.”

“I’ll try some,” Pippin stated.

“Mind if I share?” Merry asked him.

“No, but if it’s good, you should get your own cup.”

“It’s a deal.”

“I would like some, also,” Gimli added.

Boromir looked skeptical, but he nodded. “As would I.”

Merry frowned. “But you don’t even like tea, Boromir.”

“One should always try a new thing before deciding whether or not one likes it,” Boromir replied bravely.

“Sounds like your mom taught you well,” Olsen laughed, turning to the stove to fill three mugs—and missing the brief flicker of pain on Boromir’s face.

Pippin, who was seated next to Boromir, recognized the look as one that had passed over Frodo’s face in times past and remembered that Boromir would say little more about Findulias, his mother, than that she had died when he was only ten. He patted Boromir’s hand in sympathy, and Boromir smiled his thanks.

“Here ya go,” Olsen grinned, handing out the requested coffee. “And don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Boromir took an experimental sip, gulped it down, hurriedly set the mug back on the table, and began coughing and spluttering. Pippin’s eyes widened in shock at the taste, and he, too, swallowed quickly. Alarmed, Merry snatched Pippin’s mug in case he began coughing.

“My, that’s strong,” Pippin squeaked, blinking back tears.

Merry gingerly tasted the coffee, and his eyes also widened. “Whoo,” he said when he was finally capable of making sound.

Gimli alone seemed unaffected. “Tastes like the sort of thing that could keep a body awake at night,” he remarked, taking another drink.

Boromir recovered his breath and looked at Gimli suspiciously. “You have had this before, Master Dwarf?”

Gimli twinkled at him. “Aye, we Dwarves enjoy it on occasion; we used to get it from Harad, I think. Nor is it unknown in the Shire, although apparently it never reached Buckland or Tuckborough. I seem to recall hearing that Bilbo served quite a lot of it when my father and the rest of Thorin’s expedition showed up unexpectedly for tea.”

“Gimli, that was nearly eighty years ago,” Merry retorted. “If it came from Harad, we’d be hard pressed to get any after Sauron declared himself and took control of Harad and Rhûn.”

Boromir frowned. “I seem to remember some kind of drink that was made from a bean from Harad that was served at great feasts when I was a child. It was served in tiny cups and mixed with honey, cream, and spices. I think mine was mostly cream, though; Father said it was too strong for children. We did not have it often, and I think Father stopped serving it altogether after Mother died.”

“That sounds like Turkish coffee,” Tiger remarked.

“Strider might know if it’s the same thing,” Pippin pointed out. “He’s been to Harad.”

“He might,” Boromir nodded. “I know it did _not_ taste like this,” he added, looking at the coffee cup in front of him in distaste.

Gimli chuckled.

“Kindly stout, ain’t it?” twinkled Mills, who was from Amarillo.

“Naw… you want stout, come down to Louisiana and try chicory sometime,” drawled Beauchamp.

Olsen laughed. “You think this is bad? You should have been here last month. LeBeau was in solitary for a week, so we had Mills make the coffee. Little did we know he makes it cowboy-style!”

“Strong enough to float a horseshoe,” Walters added parenthetically.

“Well, that’s the only way I know to make it!” Mills replied defensively. “My granddaddy always said that coffee ain’t strong enough unless a spoon’ll stand up in it.”

“It _ate_ my spoon,” Saunders said mournfully.

“Oh, hush,” growled Mills, playfully swatting at Saunders before getting up and going to watch the door. 

Marcus Simms, who had been at the door, collapsed on Carter’s bunk, doubled over with laughter.

* * *

Lt. Bergmann slowed and stopped some twenty yards in front of Barracks 2, his attention inexplicably drawn to the hut. He took a bite out of his pumpernickel-and-cheese sandwich and frowned. Why did he think he needed to go inside? The prisoners were laughing; wasn’t that a good sign?

A delicious aroma suddenly wafted from the barracks and tickled the portly officer’s nostrils. _Coffee_.

Bergmann hadn’t had real coffee in months. The smell made his mouth water. He was tired of water and tea; he longed for a nice strong cup of coffee for a change. Besides, the bread on his sandwich was so stale and dry, it was like eating overdone toast without the flavor of burned bread and melted butter. Coffee would wash it down perfectly.

_Perhaps I should go in and ask for some_ , Bergmann thought.

He had never had much contact with the prisoners—not like Schultz, who was almost close enough to the men to be on a first name basis and who was forever being showered with such scrumptious treats as Apfelstrudel and croissants. _Schultz_ shared coffee with the prisoners. Bergmann doubted he’d get a similar reception.

On the one hand, it seemed unfair. On the other hand, it would be fraternizing with prisoners, and that could get a person in trouble.

The pumpernickel really was stale. He hoped Col. Hogan would complain about it soon so they could get some fresher bread. Maybe if he went in and asked for some coffee, he could talk to Hogan about it. And pickles, too; some of the men had had scurvy, and he vaguely remembered reading somewhere that pickles were good for preventing that sort of thing. He knew they tasted good with this kind of sandwich. As did coffee.

He ought to go in and ask.

Bergmann hesitated again. The prisoners might not share. He knew how they hated it when the guards stole their Red Cross packages, and they might consider his request to be the same sort of thing, only more polite. He didn’t exactly blame the guards for swiping some of the packages, though; some of the things the prisoners received in those packages were now so rare in Germany that one might pay hundreds of marks to get a tenth of what the Allies sent their men every month. That didn’t make it right; it just made it understandable. The prisoners didn’t seem to mind sharing with some people, but Bergman didn’t know if he fell into that category.

Was this bread actually crunchy? He really could use a good cup of coffee to wash it down.

Still he hesitated. The scent came to him again, and suddenly Bergman was overwhelmed by a wave of homesickness. He longed for the war to be over; he wanted to be back home with his wife and children, drinking good Dutch coffee and eating the delicious little _Brötchen_ his wife loved to make. Everyone here, except Schultz, laughed at him for caring more about food than about military business. But Schultz, the toymaker, understood; they were serving only because their country was at war for reasons they neither quite understood nor agreed with, and although they loved the Fatherland dearly, they didn’t really care if Germany lost, so long as they got to go home and things went back to making sense again.

His sandwich tasted like sand.

He really could use a good cup of coffee….

Throughout his internal debate, Bergmann had been thoughtfully munching on his sandwich and staring at the barracks. It was in this state, just putting the last bite into his mouth, that Klink and Schultz found him.

“Bergmann!” Klink said sharply.

Startled, Bergmann choked. Schultz pounded him on the back until he stopped coughing.

“Yes, sir?” Bergmann finally wheezed.

“What were you doing here, Lieutenant?” Klink demanded.

“Nothing, sir. Just thinking.”

“Well, get back to work! We don’t have time for you to stand around thinking! And if I catch you thinking over here again, I’ll have you confined to quarters. Is that clear?”

Bergmann gulped and saluted. “ _Jawohl, Herr Kaffee—ähm, Herr Kommandant!_ ”

Throwing a plaintive look at Schultz, who shrugged, Bergmann hurried away, feeling very disappointed. He reminded himself that the prisoners might not have shared their coffee with him anyway.

* * *

Mills sobered as he watched Bergmann staring at the barracks, looking slightly wistful and slightly puzzled. Since Bergmann wasn’t moving, Mills decided to wait to alert his fellow prisoners until something else happened.

That something else was the arrival of Klink and Schultz.

“Krauts!” Mills barked, cutting off the good-natured banter being exchanged around him.

“Who and where?” Olsen frowned.

“Klink and Schultz. They’re headed this way… at least, they were before they stopped to talk to Lt. Bergmann.”

“Quick… in the office,” Simms ordered, tapping Pippin lightly on the shoulder and pointing.

“Col. Hogan’s in a conference and can’t be disturbed,” Olsen told the other prisoners as the five visitors scurried across the hut, ducking past the windows as they went.

“What if Klink won’t accept that?” O’Brien asked.

“Klink’s got a ton of paperwork to do today,” volunteered Hammond, who had cleaned the outer office that morning. “So whatever Hogan’s ‘doing,’ it’s something he wanted to take care of without bothering Klink.”

“Discipline problem? Disagreement?” Saunders speculated.

“Investigating rumors that someone’s trying to escape without his knowledge?” Walters suggested.

“Disagreement… an escape rumor would only make Klink insist on finding out what’s going on,” Olsen decided. “ _We_ don’t know what it’s all about, but Col. Hogan thought it wasn’t serious enough to disturb Klink about, so he’s trying to solve it himself.”

“Right,” chorused the other eight prisoners, committing themselves to the cover story.

* * *

Thomas and Sam looked up as the door opened and Merry and Pippin ducked inside.

“Krauts!” Pippin hissed.

Merry glanced at his cousin’s sleeping form and noticed that Frodo’s hand was on his chest on top of the blanket and that Sam had his hand covering Frodo’s. Looking at Sam, Merry frowned slightly, the quirk of his eyebrows portraying both curiosity and concern. Sam barely nodded, and the grim look on his face answered Merry’s unspoken question.

Gimli entered next, with Boromir hard on his heels. “Someone approaches,” Boromir whispered.

“Gestapo?” Thomas asked.

Before Boromir could answer, Tiger slipped inside. Thomas automatically stood.

“Klink and Schultz are coming,” Tiger explained. “We have a few moments to spare, but they will probably be coming in. The men will say that _le colonel_ is settling an argument and left orders not to be disturbed.”

The five conscious members of the Fellowship exchanged a meaningful look.

“Klink might still insist on coming in here,” Thomas frowned. “We’ve gotta hide you all.” He looked around the tiny room for a moment, thinking.

“I stood in for Kinch at roll call this morning,” Boromir observed. “It will endanger naught if I am seen.”

“I can hide in the closet,” Tiger offered.

“And I under the bed,” added Gimli.

“If you put Mr. LeBeau’s hat over Mr. Frodo’s face, you can say that he’s Mr. LeBeau and still sleeping because of his head injury,” Sam pointed out.

Thomas nodded. “Good ideas. Sam, you hide under Frodo’s blanket. We’ll put Merry and Pippin on the top bunk and say that it’s Col. Hogan taking a nap.”

Boromir quickly lifted the two younger hobbits to the top bunk and arranged the blanket over them while Thomas and Gimli helped Sam get situated in a position that was comfortable for both gardener and master while allowing Sam to keep his grip on Frodo’s hand. Tiger then disappeared into the closet, and Gimli crawled under the bunk. Boromir and Thomas moved over to stand by the door and listen.

“I just wanted to ask Col. Hogan a few questions about the Richter incident,” Klink was saying.

“Sorry, sir,” Olsen replied. “He gave strict instructions that he wasn’t to be disturbed. He’s trying to settle some sort of argument.”

Schultz had apparently been counting the prisoners silently, for he interrupted by saying, “Herr Kommandant, five of the prisoners are not here.”

“Right,” Saunders replied. “They’re all in the office with Col. Hogan.”

“What kind of argument is it?” Klink asked.

“No idea, sir,” Olsen answered. “They went straight in after roll call; the rest of us never heard what it was about.”

“Do you think he needs my help?”

Thomas couldn’t see, but he assumed that Klink looked toward the office with that remark.

“No, sir,” Hammond said emphatically, as if he were moving to stop Klink from walking toward the office. “I think he was trying to handle this without disturbing you.”

“Why?”

“Well, I told him you were busy today, sir. He said it wasn’t serious enough to interrupt what you were doing.”

“Oh. That was thoughtful of him.” Klink didn’t sound convinced.

Thomas got Boromir’s attention and whispered something in his ear. Boromir nodded.

In the main room, the prisoners were on the verge of moving _en masse_ to block the office door when the door opened and Thomas walked out. Thomas turned in the doorway and saluted, saying, “Yes, sir,” in a clearly disgruntled voice. Klink got a good glimpse of “Kinch” grinning triumphantly before the door closed.

Thomas muttered something under his breath and strode angrily toward the stove. “Honestly,” he said louder, pouring himself a cup of coffee, “just because Kinch went to college doesn’t mean he knows _The Idylls of the King_ well enough to….” He broke off, seemingly discovering Klink’s presence for the first time, then set down the coffeepot and saluted.

“ _Idylls of the King_?” Klink frowned.

“Yes, sir. It’s a series of poems about King Arthur by Alfred, Lord Tennyson. We’re trying to turn it into a play.”

“That’s what the disagreement was about?”

“Yes, sir. Kinch and I had a difference of opinion about a place that needed to be edited.”

“I thought you were in dress rehearsals already. Sgt. Kinchloe said he was playing Gawain.”

“That’s right, sir,” Thomas replied, mentally thanking God that he had guessed the same play idea that Hogan and Kinch had used when talking to Klink earlier. “But there’s one part that still doesn’t quite work. And I thought… well, here, sir, look at this and tell me what you think.” He started toward his locker.

“Thomas, you know we’re not supposed to go over Col. Hogan’s head when he makes a decision like that,” O’Brien chided. “He _is_ the director, after all.”

Klink had begun looking uncomfortable as soon as Thomas asked for his opinion, and he took O’Brien’s remark as an out. “That’s right, Thomas; you should abide by Col. Hogan’s decision.”

Thomas stopped and sighed. “Yes, sir.”

“Well, I’d better get back to my paperwork. I can discuss the Richter situation with Col. Hogan later, when he and I are not so busy.” With a curt nod, Klink turned and left as quickly as he could with dignity, and Schultz followed him without saying a word.

Marcus Simms watched the retreating figures through the door, and as soon as they were well out of earshot, he shot the group a thumbs-up.

“Mighty hard not to go above Col. Hogan’s head when he’s down in the tunnel,” Mills chuckled.

The laughter that greeted that statement served as an all-clear signal, and soon everyone except Sam and Frodo came out of Hogan’s office. After receiving a few pats on the back, Thomas went back to his post beside Frodo.

Moments later, a knock echoed through the pipes, and Olsen ran to open the tunnel entrance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   * After reading “Don’t Panic!” and “Okay, NOW Panic!” by boz4PM, I’ve become more aware of the culture-shock issues that need to be addressed in some detail. Thus everything from hygiene to food becomes a potential issue for confusion. 
>   * Mum’s The Word was a _huge_ help in getting me unstuck from the Tar Baby called writer’s block. I also want to thank the PPCers who helped me with questions about coffee, ears, and facial hair; the info and speculations they provided were invaluable. 
>   * I’m finally getting a chance to flesh out some characters that are only names on the show. Bergmann, for example, is never seen; he’s usually on the other end of the telephone receiving orders from Klink, and the most we know about him is that he likes to eat (from “A Russian is Coming”: “No, Lt. Bergmann, I do not want to hear about lunch, nor dinner, either!”). Sgt. Richter is referred to in “Praise the Führer and Pass the Ammunition” as “Ol’ Ironsides,” so apparently he is far more the tough, evil, dedicated Nazi type than like Schultz and Langenscheidt. And most of the other men in Barracks Two are given names only during mail calls and bed checks. The only character who isn’t named in the show is Marcus Simms, who still belongs to marylinusca.  
>    
>  While I’m on that subject, and for the sake of reference, here are the prisoners I’ve assigned to Barracks Two, and the sources for the names that aren’t obvious or previously credited:  
>    
>  Hogan  
>  Carter  
>  Newkirk  
>  LeBeau  
>  Kinchloe  
>  Olsen  
>  Simms  
>  Thomas (“War Takes a Holiday”)  
>  Beauchamp (“Request Permission to Escape”)  
>  Hammond (“How to Catch a Papa Bear”)  
>  O’Brien (“How to Catch a Papa Bear”)  
>  Mills (“How to Catch a Papa Bear” and “Never Play Cards with Strangers”)  
>  Walters (“The Top Secret Top Coat”)  
>  Saunders (“Drums Along the Dusseldorf”)  
>  Potowsky (I’m 90% sure I heard that name in “Tanks for the Memory” or “Col. Klink’s Secret Weapon,” and there is a random Pole in the background most of the time) 
>   * For the non-HH fans, Thomas was played by William Christopher, better known to _M*A*S*H_ fans as Father Mulcahy. Hence the joke. (Hoolihan, however, is not “Howitzer Al” Hoolihan, but “good old Hoolihan” from one of the HH eps—I can’t remember which one right now.) 
>   * According to the Guidebook on _Oregon Trail II_ , pioneers used to take pickles with them on the trail to prevent scurvy when they couldn’t get fresh fruit. Why pickles, I’m not sure, but there it is. 
>   * Aspirin is an anti-coagulant, but I don’t know if that was known even sixty years ago. And it could be that everyone was so concerned about Frodo’s headache that they forgot that aspirin might affect the wound. Drowsiness is also one of aspirin’s less serious potential side effects, and WebMD recommends contacting a doctor if it causes that effect. I suspect it would take longer for the aspirin to wear off in a hobbit than for most humans because hobbits would not have built up any sort of tolerance to it and because they are so much smaller than humans. 
> 



	7. Sing hey! for the bath at the end of day

“Missed another close one, Colonel,” Olsen said as Hogan came up the ladder.

“Gestapo again?” Hogan asked.

“Nope. Klink and Schultz.”

“And Bergmann was staring at the barracks, too,” Mills reported.

“Oh, boy,” Hogan groaned.

As soon as everyone was upstairs, Hogan called all of the prisoners together. Gimli went to relieve Thomas, and the rest of the Fellowship congregated in front of the office door while the prisoners gathered around the table in front of the stove.

“Men, we’ve got a problem,” Hogan began. “As you all know, Frodo’s got a pretty bad head injury. He is also carrying something so top secret even _I_ am not allowed to see it. And I’m sure I don’t have to tell you what would happen if the Germans got hold of it.”

The ten prisoners who had not been in the meeting in the tunnel looked at each other in shock.

“It is imperative that Frodo have a guard at all times while he recovers,” Hogan continued. “He should be well enough to move to the tunnel tomorrow morning, but until then, one of us needs to be on hand in case the Krauts try to come after him.”

As the prisoners worked out a schedule and dispatched Olsen to ask Baker to take the radio during Kinch’s shift, the Fellowship members who were still in the main room silently filed into Hogan’s office. Once the door was shut behind them, Boromir and Gimli quietly reported their experiences to Aragorn, Legolas, and Gandalf.

“Yes, I believe you did well,” Gandalf nodded.

Aragorn knelt beside the bunk and gently felt Frodo’s forehead. He could discern no fever, but Frodo unconsciously turned his head toward Aragorn, as if the Man’s touch held some healing virtue or drove away some of the influence of the Ring.

Sam looked at Aragorn, clearly concerned.

“He does not worsen, but he heals slowly,” Aragorn sighed. “I shall wake him briefly to see how he fares.”

With that, he called to Frodo and shook the hobbit’s shoulder slightly. Frodo took a deep breath and frowned; then, with a supreme effort, he opened his eyes. It took a second for his eyes to focus, but when they did, his face cleared.

“Hullo, Aragorn,” Frodo said groggily. “Is anything the matter?”

“It was time for me to wake you,” Aragorn replied. “How are you?”

“About the same. The headache has dulled some, but it’s still there. Did something happen while I was asleep? My dreams were dark.”

“We were nearly discovered twice,” Gandalf answered. “By the ingenuity of our hosts, disaster was averted; but they are making plans to set a guard for you.”

Frodo glanced at Sam, who was still sitting at the foot of the bed. “Did I ever…”

“No, sir,” Sam answered before Frodo could finish his question. “I made sure of it.”

Frodo smiled a little. “Thank you, Sam.”

Pippin saw that the first aid kit was still on Hogan’s desk, and he picked it up to hand to Aragorn. “Is it time to change the bandage, Strider?” he asked.

Aragorn looked at the bandage and saw that blood had reached the outer layer of the gauze pad covering the wound. “Yes, I believe so,” he replied, accepting the kit from Pippin. “Thank you, Pippin.”

“Do you need a washcloth, too?” Merry piped up.

“Yes, thank you, Merry.”

Merry nodded and hurried out of the room.

Frodo hissed at the unfamiliar feeling of adhesive tape being pulled off his skin. Gandalf brought Aragorn the trashcan, and after briefly examining the dressing, Aragorn threw it away. The skin around the injury felt slightly inflamed when Aragorn touched it gently, but he could see no clear sign of infection; he also saw that the bleeding had not yet stopped, and he wondered if the aspirin were preventing the blood from clotting as it should. He said so.

“It is possible,” Gandalf agreed. “It might also be causing his drowsiness. We should not give him any more. I am sorry, Frodo; we shall try to think of something else to help your headache.”

“I don’t think its effects have faded yet, anyway,” Frodo replied.

Aragorn located the antibiotic cream and spread some on a fresh gauze pad, then gently placed the pad over Frodo’s injury. Frodo winced slightly at the contact; the antibiotic cream burned a little in the open wound. Aragorn then carefully taped the pad just as Wilson, the medic, had done, and closed up the first aid kit.

Sam noticed Frodo’s eyelids drooping. “Can you stay awake long enough to eat, Mr. Frodo?” he asked.

Frodo perked up slightly at the thought of food. “Yes, I think so. I ought to try, anyway; I feel very weak, and eating might help.”

Merry and Pippin left to get food and to return the first aid kit to Hogan; they returned with LeBeau and Hogan in tow. While LeBeau and Sam helped Frodo eat some more soup, Hogan beckoned to Aragorn, and the two men stepped just outside the office door.

“How is he?” Hogan asked in a low voice.

“He does not improve,” Aragorn sighed. “If this continues, I shall have to employ other measures to relieve his pain and speed the healing. We should let him sleep again after he eats; he is still very weak.”

Hogan nodded in comprehension. “Do you think he’ll be well enough tomorrow?”

“I believe so, but it remains to be seen. He will want to help, though, whether he is able or not.”

Hogan looked back at the small figure on his bed. “Seems like a good-hearted fellow.”

Aragorn smiled. “He is. Gandalf and Bilbo consider him the best hobbit in the Shire.”

They were silent for a moment, watching the activity in the office. Then Hogan turned back to Aragorn and asked, “Would you and Gandalf mind coming down to the tunnel with Tiger and me? We need to finalize our plans so I can brief everyone this afternoon and we can get to work preparing everything we need for tomorrow night.”

“It would be a pleasure to contribute,” Aragorn replied. He caught Gandalf’s eye and nodded toward Hogan.

Gandalf nodded his assent. “Aragorn and I will be downstairs if you need us,” he announced.

“Bye, Gandalf,” Frodo replied sleepily.

Gandalf smiled; Frodo had sounded exactly as he had many years ago as a young tween. The wizard then retrieved his staff from its resting place beside the closet and joined Aragorn and Hogan. These three were joined by Tiger and Kinch as they crossed the room to the tunnel entrance; Kinch went down first to man the radio, and the others filed down the ladder and followed Hogan to the map room.

As soon as Frodo fell asleep, everyone but Sam left the office. Saunders took the door while Beauchamp took his turn guarding Frodo, and the rest of the Fellowship and the prisoners settled in for two mercifully uneventful hours. Saunders reported that Schultz seemed to be keeping a close watch on the barracks, since he chased away several guards who were loitering within 100 yards of the hut and stopped several people from approaching without specific reasons for entering the barracks.

“Good ol’ Schultz,” Carter beamed.

“Schultz is a puzzle to me,” Boromir frowned. “He is an enemy soldier, and yet he does not seem to hinder you.”

“Schultz is only a problem when ’e decides to ’elp ’is own side,” Newkirk twinkled.

“He was a toymaker before the war,” Olsen explained. “He was… uh, conscripted, and his factory was confiscated by the Nazis to be used as a war plant. So his loyalties are kind of confused; he loves his country, but he’s not sure he likes what the government is doing, and he’s friends with us. So it’s easier for him to hear nothing, see nothing, and say nothing. He doesn’t actively help us much, but he doesn’t _usually_ stand in our way.”

The visitors pondered this for a moment.

“I think the mission tomorrow night will be quite exciting, don’t you, Pip?” said Merry nonchalantly, ostensibly changing the subject.

“Oh, aye,” Pippin nodded.

The cousins looked at each other for a moment, and then Pippin looked back at his cards.

“Gin!” he crowed.

* * *

“ _Aber, Herr Feldwebel_ …” protested Pvt. Holtz, as Schultz escorted him past Barracks Two.

“ _No_ , Holtz. There is something strange going on in that hut; people are acting very peculiar when they get near it. The Kommandant has noticed it, too.”

“So it is the Kommandant’s orders that no one approach?”

Schultz looked a little embarrassed. “Well, no, he has not ordered it. But I think it is wise.” He glanced back over his shoulder with a twinge of fear. “Whatever it is, it feels very bad.”

* * *

Hogan emerged from the tunnel just as LeBeau finished cooking dinner. Merry and Pippin ate their meal quickly, then took servings to Beauchamp, Sam, and Frodo. Frodo had an easier time waking up than before, and his appetite had improved; but his headache was slowly getting worse again.

As soon as everyone finished eating, Hogan led his men, Tiger, and the Fellowship into his office. Beauchamp went back out into the main room and closed the door behind him, leaving the others to arrange themselves comfortably in the cramped space.

“All right,” Hogan said, pulling down the map. “This is the route the train is going to follow. Here,” he pointed to a spot on the track, “is where we’ll stop the train. Gandalf will be here, setting off the fake attack.” He moved his finger forward somewhat. “We’ll pull the engineers and guards away from the front of the train and take them with us to inspect the train; we’ll say we’re searching for the Underground member who shot the SS man this morning. While we’re searching the train, Carter will plant contact charges on the tracks here.” Hogan pointed to a position slightly beyond where Gandalf was to be. “We’ll be sure to mark the car with the musicians in it. As soon as we get far enough past, Boromir and LeBeau will take out any guard that is there and pull the musicians out. Gimli and the hobbits will wait in the woods with extra weapons and be on hand to give backup if necessary; Tiger and Newkirk will also wait just out of sight to meet our rescuees and get them back here.”

“You said ‘we’ would inspect the train,” Merry frowned. “Who’s ‘we’?”

“Aragorn, Legolas, and I,” Hogan replied. “We’ll be wearing Gestapo uniforms….”

Carter, looking embarrassed, interrupted. “Sir, if they’re gonna be German officers, shouldn’t they… y’know, get cleaned up first?”

Legolas smirked.

“I do apologize,” Aragorn replied, looking sheepish. “We have been in the Wild for a fortnight and have added the grime of battle to the dust of travel, and there has been no opportunity to bathe.”

Hogan rubbed the back of his neck, also uncomfortable. “I guess we will have to sneak you into the showers tonight, then. They’re cold showers, but they do the job.”

“Cold water is better than none,” Legolas twinkled at Aragorn, who blushed.

The prisoners looked at each other and decided there must be some sort of inside joke between the scruffy Man and the pristine Elf.

“Could the rest of us get a bath, too?” Pippin asked. “I’m tired of feeling filthy.”

“I think it can be arranged, but we can’t take too long,” Hogan agreed.

“I’m not sure I feel up to bathing,” Frodo sighed, closing his eyes. This was partly true, but he was also reluctant to reveal either the Ring or the mithril mail that his shirt hid.

Sam hesitated, torn between the desire for a bath and the desire to stay with his master. The latter won out, and he shook his head. “I’ll pass on that, too, Mr. Hogan.”

“We could arrange a sponge-bath for him in the tunnel, _mon colonel_ ,” LeBeau suggested.

Sam brightened. “What about that, Mr. Frodo?”

“Well…” Frodo replied, still reluctant.

“I think I would prefer a sponge-bath,” Gandalf declared.

“As would I,” Gimli agreed.

“I think you ought to bathe, Frodo, so I will see to your wound again,” Aragorn said gently. “Pippin, please go and fetch my pack while I take off this dressing. LeBeau, I may need a bowl of plain hot water.”

“ _Oui d’accord_ ,” LeBeau nodded. “I have been keeping some water hot in case it was needed.”

Pippin dashed off without saying anything, and LeBeau followed him as far as the stove.

“I’ll go get the first aid kit so you can have some fresh bandages,” Carter offered.

“Thank you, Carter,” Aragorn smiled. “Could you also bring me a washcloth?”

“Sure thing,” Carter nodded as he walked out of the office.

Frodo winced as Aragorn applied the slight pressure needed to remove the adhesive tape around the gauze pad. The wound was still bleeding, though not as much as before. The skin around the injury still felt slightly inflamed to Aragorn’s experienced touch, and the effects of the aspirin were wearing off.

Carter, LeBeau, and Pippin all returned just as Aragorn decided on his course of action.

“The wound is still healing more slowly than I had hoped,” Aragorn told Frodo, “and the aspirin’s virtue is fading. However, I do have one herb that will ease your pain and help you to heal more quickly. I had hoped you would not need it, but I deem now that you do.”

“ _Athelas_?” Merry and Sam guessed at the same time.

Boromir frowned. “The weed that some elders in Gondor use for headaches?”

Aragorn smiled as Pippin handed him his pack. “This is no mere weed, Boromir, and its virtue covers more than headaches. It has already helped to save Frodo once, and from a far more serious wound. But in this case, I think it shall serve well to cure a headache.”

Aragorn drew one long, slightly dried leaf of _athelas_ from his pouch of medicinal herbs and took the bowl of water from LeBeau. He then crushed the leaf and cast it into the bowl. At once the room filled with a clean, wholesome fragrance like roses in mid-summer. Everyone immediately felt refreshed and relaxed, and Frodo’s headache diminished greatly.

* * *

Outside, Langenscheidt and Schultz walked past Barracks Two on their way back to night duty after a dismal meal at the mess hall. Between the bizarre events of the day and the storm system that was blowing in, both men felt exceptionally gloomy—until they walked past the end of the building that comprised Hogan’s quarters. There they caught a whiff of something barely perceptible but wonderful. Schultz drew himself up out of an exhausted slouch, and Langenscheidt took a deep breath and let it out again, feeling braced and alert.

“Did you smell something?” Schultz asked as they walked on.

“I’m not sure,” Langenscheidt confessed. “But I feel much better now.”

Schultz nodded thoughtfully and smiled. It was definitely a nice change from the aura of evil that had seemed to surround the hut earlier in the day.

* * *

Aragorn soaked the washrag in the _athelas_ infusion and bathed Frodo’s injury with it. The bleeding stopped at once, and Aragorn could feel the inflammation subside.

“Thank you, Aragorn,” Frodo sighed. “The pain is gone; I think I might be able to sit up without getting dizzy.”

Sam ran around Aragorn to the head of the bed as Aragorn gingerly helped Frodo into a sitting position. Sam propped the thin pillow against the wall, and Frodo scooted back to lean against it. He sat still for a moment, then brightened.

“Yes, I do feel much better,” Frodo grinned.

“Good news,” Aragorn smiled back. “Do you think you want a sponge-bath, then?”

Frodo ran a hand through his greasy hair. “I suppose so. But I would prefer to do it myself,” he added with a look at Sam.

“If you say so, sir,” Sam returned.

Frodo smiled at him gratefully.

“Come, André,” LeBeau beckoned. “We will set up a place for you to bathe in the tunnel, and we will let you know when it is ready.”

“I’ll even set up a screen for you, if we can’t find a place that’s already curtained off,” Carter added helpfully.

“I thank you both,” Frodo replied.

“Should we not all bathe in the tunnel?” Boromir frowned. “At least then we might have hot water.”

“Showering will probably be faster and easier,” Newkirk replied. “And it won’t be as tricky to wash your ’air.”

“Speaking of washing hair,” Aragorn said to Frodo, “I shall wait to replace the bandage on your head until after your hair is washed. You should be careful not to get much shampoo into the wound, but I think you can probably manage it.”

“Might be best if they washed their hair up here, Colonel,” Kinch suggested. “It’ll be a little easier over the sink, and we won’t have to worry about mud in the tunnel as much.”

“Great idea, Kinch,” Hogan nodded.

* * *

“Col. Higgins?” Professor Tolkien called, opening the door to the office where he had been sequestered for the past several hours.

“Have you finished it?” Race asked eagerly, leaving his seat across the hall and coming to the door. Mush, who had been sitting next to the door, also stood.

“Well, yes… I actually finished it some time ago, but I have had to make a fair copy because of my handwriting and the emendations that were necessary.” Tolkien handed the clean, legible copy to Race.

As Race handed the papers to Mush, Mush started to say something about speed being more important than legibility but thought better of it when he realized just how illegible professors’ handwriting could be if they were in a hurry. Instead he stated, “I’ll go notify Gen. Sullivan.”

“Notify communications while you’re at it,” Race nodded.

“Right.” Mush hurried away.

“We’ll call Papa Bear as soon as possible so you can dictate the code to him,” Race informed Tolkien. “Then I think we can let you go.”

“Glad to hear it,” Tolkien nodded, turning to go back into the office and collect his things. “I do have one question, though.”

“Shoot,” Race shrugged, following him into the office.

“You say this Papa Bear specifically asked for an Elvish code? Did he say why?”

Race shook his head. “If he gave a reason, it wasn’t one that made any sense to us. Never figured him to be the type to read books like yours, either—meanin’ no offense.”

“None taken. It was, I’m afraid, intended more for children.”

“Well, war is crazy,” Race sighed.

“I can agree to that,” Tolkien nodded.

And with that they started down the hall toward the office shared by Jack and David.

* * *

“All ready,” LeBeau beamed, poking his head into the office.

“Let’s all head down,” Hogan suggested. “I have a feeling that code will be coming through pretty soon.”

While everyone filed out of the office, Hogan took LeBeau aside and explained Kinch’s suggestion and Aragorn’s concern. LeBeau nodded his comprehension.

Once they got downstairs, Frodo and Sam took their packs from the radio room and followed Carter and LeBeau through the tunnel to a side room that was currently empty. Carter had thrown together a folding screen made from discarded rifle crates, and LeBeau had set a spirit lamp on a box and used one of Carter’s beaker tripods to situate a pot of water over the spirit lamp to keep the water warm.

“Here,” said Carter, handing Frodo a bar of soap, two rags, and a towel. “You can put soap on one rag and use the other to rinse off.”

“Let us know when you have finished,” LeBeau continued. “We can take you upstairs and help you wash your hair in the sink in a way that will not disturb your wound.”

“Thank you both for your help,” Frodo replied and ducked behind the screen.

Sam hung Frodo’s clean clothes neatly over the top of the screen and pulled down the dirty ones as Frodo hung them.

“I can wash those for you tomorrow if you’d like,” Carter offered.

“Thank you, Mr. Carter,” Sam smiled.

Sam suddenly thought he heard the jingle of chain mail from inside the room, but since neither Carter nor LeBeau seemed to hear it, he dismissed it as a product of his imagination.

In the radio room, everyone else tried to find places to sit comfortably and wait for the code to come from London. Gandalf lit his pipe.

“While we’re down here, we ought to start getting you two fitted for uniforms,” Hogan told Aragorn and Legolas. “You can try them on after you shower.”

“A wise suggestion,” Aragorn agreed.

“What rank should they be?” Kinch asked.

Hogan looked at Aragorn and Legolas, who looked at each other.

“As a prince of Northern Mirkwood, I am counted among the captains of our realm,” Legolas answered.

“And I am both Chieftain of the Dúnedain and Captain of the Rangers,” Aragorn added.

Hogan thought for a moment, then nodded. “Captains, then. I’ll be a major, so it won’t look suspicious for me to do all the talking… although you two should learn a little German just in case, but we can take care of that tomorrow.”

“Uniforms should be no problem, sir, even if I have to alter ’em,” Newkirk remarked, estimating the sizes of Dúnadan and Elf. “It’s the hair that could be tricky. Kraut officers keep their hair trimmed pretty close.”

“I should prefer not to cut my hair so short,” said Legolas, looking uncomfortable.

“As would I,” Aragorn agreed.

“We can work that out later,” Hogan stated. “We’ll also need disguises for Boromir, Gimli, and Gandalf.”

“Disguise?!” chorused Adan and Dwarf indignantly.

Gandalf blew a smoke ring and turned it green. “We are trying not to be seen at all, but if someone should catch a glimpse of us, it would be better to look more like a native,” he explained. “As for me… well, I suppose I should wear black, though I am skilled at hiding myself.”

“Mama Bear calling Papa Bear,” suddenly crackled through the speaker before Gimli could protest again.

“Go ahead, Mama Bear,” Kinch replied.

“Stand by for an urgent message from Beowulf.”

“Roger, Mama Bear. Standing by.”

“Beowulf?” Tiger frowned. “I have not heard that name before.”

“It’s probably the guy who’s worked out our Elvish code,” Hogan explained. “We’re gonna need some help with spelling these words, though,” he added, turning to his other guests.

Aragorn and Legolas looked at each other again.

“Your handwriting is better,” Aragorn shrugged.

“I have had little experience taking dictation,” Legolas countered.

Aragorn laughed. “You expect a _Ranger_ to have more?”

Legolas chuckled. “Very well. I shall do my best.”

“Why do you not ask Boromir?” Gimli frowned. “He is a Steward’s son, after all.”

“I know too little Sindarin,” Boromir replied smugly.

Kinch handed Legolas a spare clipboard and pencil. “I’ll see if I can get it phonetically, Legolas, and you get the spelling.”

“Agreed.”

“Papa Bear, this is Beowulf,” said a male voice.

“Go ahead, Beowulf,” Kinch replied.

“I have the urgent information you requested.”

As Tolkien read the code and Kinch and Legolas hurriedly wrote it down, Hogan and Tiger marveled at the beauty of sound and cadence the Professor had achieved in creating his language. Hogan thought it reminded him somewhat of Welsh.

About halfway through the transmission, Carter came through silently with Frodo and Sam. When Carter signaled to Gandalf, the wizard nodded and knocked the ashes out of his pipe into the ashtray on the radio table, and he and Gimli went to bathe. The hobbits, meanwhile, followed Carter up the ladder into the hut, and Aragorn followed them to see to Frodo’s wound after the others helped him wash his hair.

“That everything?” Kinch finally asked when it sounded like Tolkien had reached the end of his list.

“It is indeed, Papa Bear,” Tolkien replied.

“Thanks a million, Beowulf. You’ve been a big help. Over and out.”

Kinch and Legolas handed Hogan their clipboards at the same time. Hogan looked from one list to the other several times, then laughed and turned them around for everyone else to see:

Kinch’s list was in shorthand. Legolas’ was in Tengwar.

* * *

“Thanks, Professor,” Spot grinned, taking the clipboard from Tolkien and handing it to a stenographer so that she could type and file the new code.

“We really appreciate it, Professor,” echoed David, shaking Tolkien’s hand.

“And we’re sorry for the confusion and the inconvenience,” added Jack.

“My pleasure, sirs,” Tolkien replied. “Glad to have been of service. And I shall be praying for Papa Bear tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Professor,” Jack smiled. “I’m sure he’ll appreciate it.”

Spot showed Tolkien out of the communications room and found Les to drive him back to Oxford. 

* * *

After dark, six figures slipped silently through the compound, dodging lights from the towers until they reached the prisoners’ showers. LeBeau carried a bag full of towels, two bars of soap, and two bottles of shampoo; Boromir brought a bag with a clean change of clothes for each member of the Fellowship. They had left their weapons in the tunnel.

“Turn this knob to the left to get the water,” LeBeau explained in a whisper, pointing out the important features under one shower head. “The water comes out up here; it’s like washing under a waterfall. You turn the knob back to the right to turn it off. This bottle has shampoo for washing your hair. This bar of soap is probably softer than what you’re used to; you can rub it between your hands to get a good lather, or you can rub it directly on your body.”

“Many thanks, LeBeau,” Aragorn smiled, accepting soap and shampoo.

LeBeau set his bag on a bench. “I’m sorry there’s not much privacy. The _Boche_ seem to think we don’t need it.”

“We’ll survive,” Pippin replied bravely.

LeBeau nodded and ducked outside to watch for guards. He could hear the clink of chain mail as the Men disrobed and brief gasps of shock as each one stood under the cold water. Merry and Pippin came out first, towels still draped over their hair and teeth chattering. It took longer for the other three guests to finish dressing and slip back outside, but when Legolas finally emerged and checked that the door was locked, LeBeau checked his watch and saw that only fifteen minutes had passed.

“Well,” whispered Merry gamely, “that was different.”

Pippin started humming Bilbo’s bath song.

LeBeau couldn’t help smiling. “Let’s get out of here before the guard comes back, and I’ll fix you a nice hot cup of coffee when we get back to the barracks.”

The cousins looked at each other.

“D’ye have any tea instead?” Pippin asked hopefully.

* * *

Newkirk had just finished checking over Hogan’s Gestapo disguise when the others returned from the showers. The hobbits had stayed upstairs with LeBeau to warm themselves with hot tea and a seat by the stove, but Boromir wrapped himself in his fur-lined cloak and brought his mug of soup downstairs to the uniform room. He sipped the steaming liquid while Newkirk explained the parts of the Gestapo uniform to Aragorn and Legolas.

“Was it that cold?” Gimli asked Boromir in a low voice.

“It was not icy,” Boromir replied. “But it was cold enough.”

“We have been discussing our clothing,” Gandalf stated, coming to join Man and Dwarf. “You and I will wear black tunics and trousers, and black caps to cover our hair. I know not if we will be able to carry our weapons or conceal mail under our outfits. I believe we are also to begrime our faces so that the oil does not catch the light.”

Boromir nodded. “If that is what is necessary for stealth, then I will comply. And Gimli?”

“Well, the hobbits are wearing their usual clothing…” Gimli began.

Boromir muttered something about the stubbornness of Dwarves.

Carter came around the corner then with two piles of black clothing. “I hope these’ll fit,” he said, handing one stack to Boromir and one to Gandalf. “You guys are a lot bigger than most of us, but Hoolihan left two sets when he was transferred out.”

“Thank you, Carter,” Gandalf smiled. “We will try them on as soon as possible.”

Just then, Aragorn emerged from the makeshift dressing room, trying to figure out how to tie his tie. Boromir’s jaw dropped. Even for one who had never been terrorized by the Gestapo, the uniform conveyed an impression of arrogance and cruelty; and for a moment, Boromir thought he caught a glimpse of what Aragorn would have been like as Ring-lord.

Gimli’s eyes were wide, and he murmured something in Khuzdul.

“Good enough to shoot,” Kinch stated approvingly.

“Thank the Valar you chose your path well, Aragorn,” Gandalf said as he shook his head slowly.

Newkirk helped Aragorn with the tie, then steered him to a full-length mirror pieced together from smaller mirrors filched from the camp storeroom. Aragorn looked at himself and sighed.

“It is perfect,” he stated. “I hate it.”

“Despicable,” Legolas agreed, stepping out of the dressing room and frowning at his tie.

After a stunned silence in which everyone stared at the Elf, Aragorn said calmly, “You know, Legolas, if I did not know better, I would think you belonged to the House of Fëanor.”

“Thank you, Ar-Pharazôn,” Legolas shot back before Newkirk came over to show him how to put on the tie.

Unsure whether or not the two were just teasing each other, Hogan interrupted. “You might need to shave, Aragorn.”

Aragorn rubbed his scruffy chin. “That might not be a bad idea.”

“That leaves hair,” Kinch sighed.

“Can we pin it somehow?” Carter suggested.

“It’s a thought,” Hogan nodded. “Tiger, what do you think?”

Tiger rummaged in the make-up kit that sat on Newkirk’s sewing table and found a comb and a small hair elastic. Combing through Aragorn’s still-damp hair, she quickly and deftly pulled it into a small ponytail a few inches above the nape of his neck. She then secured the hair to the top of his head with two hairpins and placed his hat on his head. Stepping back to observe her handiwork, she nodded approvingly.

“Yes, it will work,” Tiger said. “So long as no one looks at the back of his head; and since it will be dark, it will be even harder to tell that the hair is pulled up and not a buzz cut.”

“What’ll we do about Legolas, though?” Kinch frowned. “His hair’s a lot longer; it won’t be as easy to hide it.”

Legolas looked at his hat thoughtfully for a moment, then took the comb from Tiger and stepped over to the make-up mirror. Within minutes, he had plaited his hair into two braids, wound them around his head, and pinned them in place, flat enough and far enough from the crown of his head that they would not show through the hat. Sure enough, when he tried the hat on, the braids were perfectly hidden.

“Trust it to a prissy Elf,” Gimli grumbled teasingly.

As the others congratulated themselves on the brainstorm, Hogan suddenly discovered another problem. “Uh-oh. What do we do about your ears, Legolas?”

Everyone looked at Legolas again. With his hair pulled up and the hat on, his pointed ears were even more prominent.

Legolas sighed. “I do not know. I have never before attempted to disguise myself as a mortal.”

“As if anyone could mistake an Elf for a mortal,” Tiger said under her breath.

Aragorn suddenly snickered. Legolas looked at him sharply.

“ _Goheno nin_ ,” Aragorn said, shaking his head. “I was just thinking of what Glorfindel would say if he could see you now. Or Elladan and Elrohir, for that matter. They would never let you live it down.”

Legolas’ eyes narrowed dangerously, but they still twinkled with mirth, and a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

“I have a feeling,” said Kinch, “that people are probably going to be paying more attention to the uniform than to Legolas’ ears.”

“Why don’t you say he’s a _Supermensch_?” Carter laughed.

“It’s a thought,” Hogan nodded.

“What is a _Supermensch_?” Legolas frowned.

“It’s German for ‘superman,’” Hogan explained. “Since they think they’re the master race, they believe they’ve evolved beyond the rest of us mere mortals. We might be able to convince them that you’re the next step in evolution.”

“What do you mean by evolution?” Boromir asked, confused. “Do they not believe that the One created Men?”

Hogan and his men looked uncomfortably at each other for a moment.

“Well, no,” Carter said slowly. “They believe that science proves that men evolved from monkeys. Uh, by evolved, I mean that genetic changes accumulated over time to change one type of creature into another.”

“People who seek such an explanation for their origins must want to distance themselves from their Creator so that they can pursue evil without fear of retribution,” Gandalf stated, shaking his head sadly. “It is a lie of Morgoth.”

“That’s one of the reasons they’re trying to wipe out everyone who’s not Aryan,” Kinch nodded. “If there’s no Creator, there are no consequences for murder, and all that matters is ensuring the purity of the master race.”

“ _Nothdagnirrim_ ,” snarled Legolas.

“And we must disguise ourselves as the worst of them,” Aragorn sighed, turning back to the mirror. “I wonder if Beren felt such disgust when he disguised himself as an orc or as Draugluin.”

“I would not doubt it,” Legolas agreed, placing a sympathetic hand on Aragorn’s shoulder. “I will be glad when this is over.”

“You can change out of these now, mates,” Newkirk said gently. “No reason to keep them on all day.”

Legolas and Aragorn turned and gave him identical grateful smiles.

“Once you’ve changed, we need for Gandalf and Boromir to try on their disguises,” Hogan declared. “Then we should all try to get some sleep.”

Everyone agreed, and Carter and Tiger headed off to find bedding for the ten guests while Aragorn and Legolas changed clothes. They returned just as Gandalf came out of the dressing room. No one could quite find the words to describe how the wizard looked in a black turtleneck and black jeans, with a black stocking cap pulled down over his grey hair. The outfit looked much more natural on Boromir.

“Frodo should still sleep upstairs, and I suspect Sam will want to stay with him,” Aragorn told Hogan. “The _athelas_ has done much to help Frodo, but bathing tired him, and I would prefer for him to rest above ground tonight.”

Hogan nodded. “If LeBeau doesn’t mind sleeping down here, I can take his bunk. That way, if Schultz comes in during the night, I can say I traded bunks with him.”

Hogan and Aragorn went upstairs to collect Merry and Pippin, and Hogan gave LeBeau his proposal. LeBeau agreed enthusiastically.

Aragorn went to the office to check on Frodo, and Mills met him at the door. “He’s already asleep,” Mills reported. “Plumb tuckered out, he was. Sam sat up with him for a while, but he was pretty beat, too, so I put him on the top bunk, and he’s dozing.”

“Good,” Aragorn smiled. “May they sleep peacefully through the night.”

* * *

Baker climbed down the ladder in Barracks Three and found his way to the radio room, carefully maneuvering around the sleeping forms on the floor. “Your watch, Kinch,” he said when he arrived. “I’ll mind the store for you.”

“Thanks, Baker,” Kinch smiled at the younger radio man. “May we both have an uneventful night.”

“Amen,” Baker twinkled.

Kinch handed over the headphones and climbed up the ladder into Barracks Two. He quietly made his way through the main room and eased into Hogan’s quarters.

“Hi, Kinch,” Walters whispered. “All quiet so far.”

“Okay. Thanks, Walters.”

Kinch stood out of the way and let Walters slip silently out of the room before taking his position on the footlocker. He checked to make sure that his pistol was handy in case he needed it, then leaned back against the wall and fixed his eyes on the door. As minutes slipped into hours, he found himself wishing for some coffee to help him stay awake.

Frodo suddenly began whimpering. Before Sam could wake up enough to react, Kinch leaned over and lightly laid a hand on Frodo’s head. He wished heartily for a rocking chair, but since there was none, he began gently smoothing Frodo’s hair back from his forehead and softly singing in a rich baritone:

Sometimes I feel like a motherless child,  
Sometimes I feel like a motherless child,  
Sometimes I feel like a motherless child  
A long way from home,  
A long way from home. 

Sometimes I feel like I’m almost gone,  
Sometimes I feel like I’m almost gone,  
Sometimes I feel like I’m almost gone,  
A long way from home,  
A long way from home.

Frodo stirred and blinked sleepily. “Hullo, Kinch,” he said groggily.

“Hello, Frodo. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“No, no, ’s no problem. ’S a pretty song you were singing.”

“But very sad, too,” Sam added from above.

Kinch smiled wryly. “Not quite sure why that was the one that came to mind. It isn’t the most appropriate song for a lullaby.”

“I know what it means, though,” Frodo sighed. “I feel that way, too. Of course, I’ve been a motherless child for a long time now.”

“So have I. My mom died while I was still in high school.”

“Mr. Frodo’s parents drownded when he was just a teen,” Sam said sadly.

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that, Frodo,” Kinch sighed.

“Thank you, but there’s no need to be sorry. That was a long time ago. And I had Bilbo while I was a tween, so I was brought up well.”

Deciding to change the subject, Sam asked, “Where did you learn that song, Mr. Kinch?”

Kinch smiled. “My mom taught me. It’s an old, old song our ancestors used to sing.”

“What made them so sad?”

Kinch’s smile turned slightly sad. “Well, a long time ago, my ancestors lived in Africa. I’ll show you where it is on a map in the morning. Anyway, some people in Europe, which is where we are now, and America, which is across the ocean, thought that since my people have black skin, we weren’t really human, and since we were strong and skilled, we ought to be used as slaves. So they took my ancestors, and a lot of other men and women, from Africa to wherever people wanted land worked and sold the Africans as slaves; most of the time, the slaves they took were sold to them by invaders from the East. Now, people sing a lot in Africa, so the slaves took that tradition with them; but since their life was so hard, they sang songs like that one. Not all the songs were sad, though; they sang a lot about God and Heaven and the stories they learned about Jesus.”

“That’s awful, that people would treat other people like animals,” Sam sighed.

“In our world, the Dark Lord and his followers are the only people who keep slaves,” Frodo added. “The Free Peoples would never consent to such evil.”

“Not everyone in America was happy about it, either,” Kinch replied. “They ended up fighting a war over slavery, among other things. The side that wanted to end slavery won, and now there’s a law that expressly forbids slavery and another one that says that citizenship doesn’t depend on a person’s skin color. Technically, we’re supposed to be treated just like everyone else. There are still people who treat us like second-class citizens, though, but I’m hopeful that that’ll all change soon.”

Both Sam and Frodo blinked as the last statement sailed over their heads.

Kinch chuckled a little. “Never mind. Things are getting better.”

Frodo sighed and blinked sleepily. “Just hope I don’t fail… don’t want that happening to anyone in Middle-earth.”

Kinch smiled warmly at him. “You’ll do fine, Frodo. I have faith in you.”

Frodo smiled and closed his eyes again. “Sometime I’d like to hear one of those happier songs… and maybe you could explain it to me… ’d like to hear who Jesus is and why those songs make people happy….”

“Maybe; we could talk more after tomorrow night, if there’s time before you have to leave.”

Frodo nodded a little.

Kinch thought for a moment and began to sing:

There is a Balm in Gilead  
To make the wounded whole;  
There is a Balm in Gilead  
To soothe the sin-sick soul. 

Sometimes I feel discouraged  
And think my work’s in vain,  
But then the Holy Spirit  
Revives my soul again.

If you can’t preach like Peter,  
If you can’t pray like Paul,  
Just tell the love of Jesus  
And say He died for all.

There is a Balm in Gilead  
To make the wounded whole;  
There is a Balm in Gilead  
To soothe the sin-sick soul.

It didn’t take long for Frodo’s eyes to close, and by the end of the song, he was sound asleep, secure in the big man’s presence and lulled by his soulful voice.

“Mr. Kinch?” Sam whispered, sounding barely awake himself.

“Yes, Sam?”

“I can’t name you an Elf-friend, and I know this may not mean as much, but I’m glad to call you a Hobbit-friend.”

Kinch’s smile showed in his voice when he replied, “Thank you, Sam. That does mean a lot.”

Kinch heard Sam shift slightly, and soon his breathing was as deep and regular as his master’s. Kinch gently brushed a curl back from Frodo’s forehead, stood up, and stretched the kink out of his back. Humming “Deep River,” he scooted Sam away from the edge of the top bunk; then, satisfied that the hobbits were safe, he sat back down on the footlocker and leaned against the wall, prepared for the rest of his vigil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the non-LOTR fans:
> 
>   * There’s a long-standing joke about Aragorn and baths based on Movie!Aragorn’s perpetually scruffy appearance and greasy hair. Legolas, being an Elf, _never_ seems to even break a sweat. There are plenty of good Aragorn-gets-a-bath fics in the LOTR section, so I’ll let you search for them. 
>   * Mithril, or true-silver, is an extremely rare precious metal in Middle-earth. It is lighter-weight than silver but harder and stronger than steel, and it is prized both for jewelry and for chain mail. In the movie, Bilbo describes the mail shirt he gives Frodo as being “light as a feather, but hard as dragon-scales.” 
>   * _Athelas_ , or kingsfoil, is a healing herb brought to Middle-earth by the Men of Númenor, who received it from the Elves of the Blessed Realm. Its virtues range from pain relief to the easing of effects suffered when fighting evil; its fragrance is pungent, and it refreshes all who smell it. The really interesting thing is that, apparently, its scent changes depending on the character of the person for whom it is bruised. 
>   * Tengwar is one of the two systems of runic writing used in Middle-earth during the Third Age, and it’s the one the Elves used most often. 
>   * Fëanor, his family, and their retainers were the first Elves to ever kill their own kind. They also swore a terrible oath that ended up driving them to commit unthinkable atrocities. Ar-Pharazôn was the last king of Númenor and was evil enough on his own, but he made the mistake of capturing Sauron and allowing him to become a chief councilor; Sauron managed to persuade him to invade Valinor, home of the Valar (the angelic spirits who rule Arda on behalf of Eru, the One, and sometimes erroneously called gods). 
>   * Beren, Aragorn’s ancestor, had to rescue a treasure from Morgoth, the original Dark Lord, in order to marry Lúthien, the Elven woman he loved. While on his quest, Beren had to disguise himself once as an Orc and once as Draugluin, the greatest of Wargs. 
> 

> 
> Whatever you might think about macroevolution (reptiles becoming birds, for example) in the Primary World, Tolkien states clearly that in his Secondary World, Elves and Men were specially created by Eru (God). And Darwinism did give the Nazis an excuse to practice genocide; if the Jews were genetically inferior, the thinking went, they should be eliminated from the gene pool.
> 
> I haven’t had the chance to hear Ivan Dixon sing solo much, but if the snippets I’ve heard on the show are any indication, he has a fine voice. And I love to hear (and sing) the old spirituals; they’re the kind of song you really can put your whole heart and soul into. The parts of Kinch’s backstory that are mentioned are based on the stories of marylinusca.
> 
> _Goheno nin_ = Forgive me
> 
> _Nothdagnirrim_ = Kinslayers [I _think_ —I’ve cobbled it together from _noss_ (kindred), _dagnir_ (slayer), and _rim_ (host, people), but I’d be glad for a Sindarin expert to correct me.]


	8. I must help save Israel!

Ominous storm clouds gathered on the western horizon as the men of Stalag 13 fell out for morning roll call on June 2\. Hogan and Newkirk exchanged worried glances; Gandalf might have problems with his light show if the rain began falling before the mission was complete.

Inside, Sam was preparing breakfast, standing on a box to reach the stovetop, and Frodo was carefully easing his way out of bed. His headache had eased considerably, and the gash on his head was now bandaged more for protection than to staunch bleeding; still, he saw no reason to push himself and endanger his participation in the mission. Aragorn and Gandalf stood by to help Frodo if he needed them; everyone else was in the main room, going over the code and waiting for their meal.

“One German,” said Legolas, reading from the list he had made (which was still in Tengwar).

“ _Thôl dôl_ ,” answered Boromir, Gimli, Merry, and Pippin.

“Several Germans.”

“ _Yrch_.”

“Many Germans.”

“ _Glamhoth_ ,” Pippin replied before the others could remember.

“Well remembered, Pippin,” Boromir sighed, rubbing his forehead. He was feeling the sort of headache that had always come on with too much memorization when he was a boy, accompanied by the too-familiar desire to quit the lesson and go outside and play.

Legolas looked up from the list to see Merry frowning thoughtfully. “Is aught amiss, Merry?”

Merry sighed. “I hope you don’t think I’m being silly.”

“Nay, lad,” Gimli replied gently. “What’s worrying you?”

“Well, it’s one thing to kill spiders and orcs and dragons and Wargs and trolls,” Merry began, “because they’re monsters and they’re dangerous. But… well….”

Boromir interrupted, understanding where Merry’s train of thought was leading. “You worry that we might have to kill Men?”

“Yes,” Merry replied, relieved not to have to explain.

Boromir put a comforting hand on Merry’s shoulder. “The Men we might be fighting are not like the Men you have known. They serve the Enemy through their allegiance to this Hitler. True, some may be coerced, like Schultz, and serve against their will; but in battle, you cannot know your enemy’s heart, and you must assume that he is _not_ like Schultz.”

“And if he is wearing a Gestapo uniform, that is a very fair assumption,” Legolas added.

“I’m none too happy about the idea myself, Mr. Merry,” Sam interjected, bringing the first plateful of bacon to the table. “But we’ve known all along that there was Men as couldn’t be trusted, and we’ve stood ready to protect Mr. Frodo from them if we ’ad to. This wouldn’t be no different; it’s just that instead of Mr. Frodo bein’ in danger, it’s all o’ us _and_ the people Hitler’s hurtin’ _and_ the soldiers who might get killed if the weapons get through.”

Merry sighed and nodded. “I know. And I don’t mind calling them orcs because they do act like  orcs. I guess that’s just one of the problems about war… you know why you’re fighting, and why you have to win, but you can’t know if the fellow in front of your sword is a decent chap or if he’s really your enemy.”

“There won’t be many decent chaps on the receiving end of this mission, Mer,” Pippin said with a twinge of regret.

Merry nodded again and drew a deep breath. “What’s next on the list?”

“Goldilocks,” read Legolas just as Frodo, Aragorn, and Gandalf came out of Hogan’s quarters.

“Glorfindel,” answered all eight Fellowship members.

“That’s one I don’t understand,” Frodo continued. “Glorfindel does mean ‘Golden Hair,’ but who is Goldilocks?”

“I suppose we’ll have to ask Hogan when he comes back,” Pippin shrugged and grabbed a piece of bacon.

“How do you fare this morning, Frodo?” Legolas asked.

“Better, thank you,” Frodo replied. “I think, and Aragorn agrees, that I should take it easy most of the day, but I can sit up without the room threatening to turn somersaults.”

“I think you should be well enough by tonight to come with us,” Aragorn smiled.

“I should hope so… not only would I hate to miss all the excitement, but… well, it’d be a little too dangerous to stay here, wouldn’t it?”

No one had to ask what _that_ meant.

“Gun,” Legolas read, frowning at the strange word.

“ _Naurgrond_ ,” came the dutiful reply.

“‘Fire club’—do you think that refers to those strange metal weapons, Boromir?” Legolas asked.

Boromir nodded. “Carter explained one to me last night. If you pull on the curved piece of metal called the trigger, it causes a small explosion that forces a piece of lead to come out of the barrel at a very high speed. Being struck by such a projectile is like being shot with an arrow.”

“It seems that not all of Men’s advances have been good ones,” Gandalf remarked dryly.

The discussion was cut short by the return of Hogan and his men. Some of the men headed straight for the plates of eggs and bacon Sam had prepared; others stopped to say good morning to the Fellowship.

“Where’s Tiger?” Hogan wondered aloud.

“She’s still asleep downstairs,” Merry replied. “At least, she was when we came up.”

“Who’s Goldilocks?” Pippin asked before Hogan could say anything else.

“Well, it’s a code name…” Hogan began.

“We like to take our code names from children’s stories,” Kinch interrupted to explain. “Goldilocks is a character from ‘The Three Bears’; so are Mama Bear and Papa Bear.”

“What kind of character is Goldilocks?” Merry pressed. “Glorfindel is a great Elf-lord who slew a Balrog. He’s a member of Elrond’s household.”

Hogan and Kinch exchanged an amused look before Hogan answered, “Goldilocks is a little girl who made a mess in the bears’ house.”

The hut erupted in laughter.

* * *

Still snickering at the thought of Glorfindel’s reaction to being equated with a foolish little girl, Aragorn and Legolas followed Hogan through the tunnel to a makeshift firing range.

“’Ere,” said Newkirk, stopping the visitors as they walked through the wardrobe room. “Take some o’ this cotton wool; you may need to stuff your ears.”

The pair thanked the corporal and hurried on.

Hogan handed Aragorn and Legolas each a pistol when they arrived.

“Chances are that you’re going to need to know how to shoot one of these,” Hogan began. “So I thought I should teach you. We can practice down here without fear of being heard; we’re far enough underground that the noise shouldn’t reach the surface.”

With that, he demonstrated how to hold the gun, how best to stand when firing, and how to aim. Then he took one shot at the paper target. Both Dúnadan and Elf jumped.

“Ai!” yelped Legolas.

“No wonder they call it a fire club!” Aragorn exclaimed.

Legolas stared at the target for a moment. “Ah, there is the hole,” he said at last. “But you did not hit the gold, Hogan,” he added with a twinkle.

Hogan shrugged. “I’m not the best shot in the world. Here, let’s see you try—after you put that cotton in your ears.”

The first shots went wild, since neither pupil was prepared for the recoil; Aragorn’s hit a beam, and Legolas’ buried itself in the earthen wall several feet above the target. By the time each had exhausted a clip, however, their marksmanship had improved greatly; Legolas consistently hit perfect bull’s-eyes, and Aragorn was almost as precisely accurate.

As the trio left the practice range, Legolas quietly complained to Aragorn that he had a headache, despite having plugged his ears.

“I, too, prefer the bow,” Aragorn agreed in Sindarin. “MUCH quieter.”

* * *

The rest of the day passed uneventfully; Hogan worked out scripts with Aragorn and Legolas so that they could have a few standard responses in German, while the rest of the team studied the code and made other preparations for the mission. Once Carter finished making his bombs, Gandalf chased him out of the lab in order to work on fireworks.

“One thing about it,” Saunders remarked as the prisoners returned from evening roll call. “With all this cloud cover, you won’t have much trouble hiding—no fear of moonlight giving you away.”

“Yeah,” Hogan concurred. “I just hope it doesn’t start raining until we get back.”

“It’s liable to come a toad-floater when it does rain,” Mills noted, looking at the sky with the practiced eye of a rancher.

“Well, as long as the mission comes off, I won’t mind  gettin’ a bit wet,” Newkirk shrugged.

Down in the tunnel, Tiger and the Fellowship spent several anxious hours waiting to leave once everyone was in costume and had their gear packed. Merry and Pippin taught Frodo and Sam how to play blackjack; Boromir sparred with his shadow; Gimli and Legolas tried to play gin; and Gandalf and Aragorn discussed how to tell Glorfindel the Goldilocks joke.

Finally, the prisoners involved with the mission came down the ladder into the tunnel, and Hogan issued orders regarding who should leave when. Carter and Gandalf left while Hogan finished putting on his Gestapo uniform. Hogan, Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli left next, followed a few minutes later by LeBeau and Boromir. The hobbits departed after another five minutes, and Tiger and Newkirk brought up the rear.

In the darkness, the hobbits could scarcely see where they were going. Merry took the lead because he had memorized the map; Frodo walked beside him because he had better night vision. They had reached a brushy glen just halfway to their destination when the snap of a twig got their attention.

“What is it?” Pippin whispered.

“Patrol!” Frodo whispered back, clutching at his chest.

“Hide!” Merry ordered, shoving Sam and Frodo down into the underbrush. Then he ran, pulling Pippin after him as he put roughly a hundred yards between himself and the Ring-bearer. Once they were a safe distance away, the cousins threw themselves to the ground.

The patrol drew steadily closer. The hobbits hardly dared to breathe; while the soldiers were nowhere near as terrifying as the  Nazgûl, it would all be over for a lot of people if they found any of the rescue team, especially Frodo.

Frodo’s hand suddenly started working its way toward the Ring. Sam noticed and caught it. Frodo frowned at Sam, then looked at his hand and its position, and let out an inaudible sigh while throwing a grateful glance back at Sam. The Ring’s treachery did not seem to have ended, however, for moments later one of the soldiers turned and stumbled over the pair. The man shouted, and his companion turned to see him scramble to his feet, dragging Frodo and Sam with him.

“ _Was ist denn? Zwergen?_ ” frowned the second guard.

“ _Zwergen oder Kinder, ich weiß nicht_,” answered the first before looking down at his captives. “ _He! Wie heißt euch? Was macht euch hier? Antwortet mir!_ ” he demanded.

“ _Lassen Sie ihnen los, Feldwebel!_ ” a commanding voice suddenly shouted from the darkness. “ _Kämpfen wir mit Kinder?_ ”

Startled, the guard complied and snapped to attention. “ _J-ja-ja-jawohl, Herr… Herr…_ ”

“ _Oberleutnant Brandybock. Hier brauche ich Ihre Hilfe; ich habe einen Engländer angepackt._ ”

“Let go o’ me, you ruddy Kraut!” shouted a second voice with a thick Scottish accent.

“ _Ja, ja, wir kommen, Herr Oberleutnant_,” the second guard replied hurriedly, and the pair rushed off blindly into the darkness.

As soon as the guards were out of earshot, Merry and Pippin surfaced from the brush. “Not bad, eh?” Merry grinned.

“Not bad at all!” Frodo replied approvingly. “Thank you!”

“Aw, shucks, ’tweren’t nothin’,” Pippin drawled in a surprisingly American accent with an undercurrent of laughter.

“’Ow’d you do tha’, Mr. Merry?” Sam frowned. “Tha’… tha’ German you said, I mean. Where’d you learn it so fast?”

“Newkirk taught us,” Merry answered as he and Pippin closed the distance between the two pairs of hobbits. “He said that as we were goin’ on this mission, we needed to know enough German to get us out of a scrape like that one. Don’t think we could say much if someone tried to strike up a real conversation, but it was enough for this.”

“Remind me to thank Newkirk when we get back!” Frodo exclaimed.

Quickly and quietly, the hobbits worked their way through the dark forest to the point where Boromir and LeBeau were hiding. From there, LeBeau led them to their appointed position, where Hogan, Legolas, and Aragorn were helping Gimli situate the weapons and other supplies that he and the hobbits were to guard.

“You’re ten minutes late,” Hogan frowned when the Ring-bearer and his companions arrived.

“We had a run-in with a patrol,” Frodo explained simply. “Merry got us out of it.”

“Trust a Brandybuck,” Gimli muttered, but he winked at Merry and handed him Legolas’ weapons.

LeBeau and Hogan exchanged glances; then LeBeau turned, chuckling, and left to rejoin Boromir.

“Pippin, Gandalf has entrusted you with his staff and  Glamdring,” Legolas stated, handing the precious items to the tween, who received them wide-eyed.

“Sam, I leave Andúril with you,” Aragorn added, handing the gardener the Sword-that-was-broken.

“I’ll be careful with it, Strider,” Sam promised quietly.

Aragorn smiled at him affectionately and patted his shoulder.

Hogan handed Frodo a pair of binoculars. “This will help you see what’s going on down by the train,” Hogan explained. “You look through this end.”

Frodo held the binoculars up to his face experimentally and made a small surprised noise when he discovered how well they worked.

“All right,” Hogan said once things were finally arranged. “You five will stay here and keep an eye on things, alert us to any patrols, that kind of thing.”

A long whistle interrupted Hogan, making the hobbits jump.

“What was _that_?” Sam demanded.

“That was the train whistle,” Hogan said calmly. “And that’s also our signal. Let’s go.”

With identical shrugs, Aragorn and Legolas put on their caps and followed Hogan.

“Brôgada to Mithrandir,” Hogan called on the radio as soon as the three “Gestapo” reached their final hiding place.

“Go ahead, Brôgada,” Carter replied.

“ _Angroch anglenn. Pan maer. Glenno._”

“Roger, Brôgada. Over and out.”

“Fare thee well, my friend,” Gandalf smiled, patting Carter’s shoulder.

Carter returned the smile and dashed away to his appointed position.

Gandalf waited until he was sure Carter was safely situated before setting off the first rocket.

Gimli couldn’t suppress an appreciative gasp as the rocket exploded.

“Haven’t you ever seen Gandalf’s fireworks before, Gimli?” Pippin asked.

“No, that seems to be a treat he saves for hobbits,” Gimli replied.

“I expect it shan’t be as grand a display tonight as for Bilbo’s party,” Sam sighed as the goblin-barkers let off a series of sharp pops.

“I shouldn’t think so,” Merry agreed. “This is war, not entertainment.”

As if to prove Merry’s point, several thunder-claps went off in rapid succession.

Frodo paid little attention to the banter around him; he was focused on what was coming down the tracks. “Look!” he whispered urgently.

The rest of the group turned their attention to the contraption chugging, clacking, and squealing down the iron rails, and they instinctively cowered.

“What _is_ that thing?” Sam hissed.

“It must be the iron horse,” Gimli replied. “Amazing.”

“It looks like something out of Mordor,” Pippin breathed.

“I think it’s slowing down,” Merry noted. “I hope it stops in time.”

The engine passed out of their immediate line of sight, as did several cars, before a final screech of metal against metal told them that the train had stopped.

Pippin looked around and spotted the telltale puffs of smoke. “It’s down that way,” he whispered, pointing down the track.

As the group turned to look, they saw the light from the last of Gandalf’s fireworks fade and heard voices shouting in German.

“Here they go,” Merry remarked in a low voice.

Four hobbits and a dwarf watched as three men came out of the engine and waited while Hogan, Aragorn, and Legolas approached from the woods; the fear with which the men reacted indicated just how evil the Gestapo were. Hogan barked out an order, and the three men scurried ahead to open each car to display the contents of the train. After each inspection, Legolas made a chalk mark on the side of the car, ostensibly as a sign that each was cleared.

“I wonder what’s in all the boxes,” Pippin whispered to Gimli.

“Weapons of some kind,” Gimli replied. “Possibly other provisions as well; the Lady Tiger said it was a supply train.”

Pippin nodded in comprehension, and silence fell over the small group once more.

Suddenly, they saw Aragorn and Legolas stiffen slightly as a car was opened. Merry took the binoculars from Frodo and looked closely at what was in that car. His mouth fell open as he took in the spectacle.

“What?” Sam and Frodo asked at the same time.

“It’s a whole wain full of people… and they look awful. Almost like wraiths.”

Gimli took the binoculars and studied the faces he could see as the prisoners were brought out of the car and counted. “They are not quite so thin as I should have thought from your description, Merry; perhaps they are better fed than their fellows because of being minstrels. Still, their faces are haunted, as if they were thralls of Sauron.”

“Thank the Valar we can help them,” Frodo murmured.

Gimli smiled at Frodo and turned his attention back to the proceedings at the train. The last of the Jews was herded back onto the train and the door was closed by the soldier guarding the car. Legolas pulled out his chalk and marked the car with the rune for M—abbreviating both “musician” and “ _mellyn_.”

And suddenly things went awry.

The Wehrmacht guard asked Legolas what he was doing. Legolas gave his answer in flawless German, with a slight sneer of superiority. The conductor looked at the rune and noticed that it was different from the others. Hogan replied that it signified the contents as well as “all clear.” The engineer and conductor looked at each other and frowned, clearly suspicious.

As Hogan blustered and pulled rank, Gimli inched his way toward the train, keeping low to the ground and blessing the cloud cover that kept his mail from glinting in the moonlight. Boromir crept up to the hobbits, claimed his sword and shield, and followed Gimli. LeBeau arrived shortly after Boromir left and held his gun ready.

The Germans seemed to grow more and more suspicious. Finally, the guard leveled his rifle at Legolas.

A tense silence settled over the scene—only to be shattered by a shout:

“ _Baruk Khazâd! Khazâd ai-mênu!_”

And the guard fell dead, neatly decapitated by a single axe-stroke.

Aragorn and Hogan rounded on the conductor and the engineer, guns drawn. Boromir caught the fireman from behind and held his sword to the man’s neck. Legolas wheeled around and shot an approaching guard before Gimli was aware of the German’s approach.

Carter had just finished placing the explosives on the track when the shot rang out. He looked up sharply.

“ _Daro!_ ” Gandalf stage-whispered before Carter could move.

Carter froze. A few seconds later, Gandalf had moved back to join him.

“I cannot tell how many guards there might be,” Gandalf told Carter. “We must fall back to the hobbits’ position and then join the battle if we are needed.”

“Got it,” Carter nodded.

Silently, the pair scurried down the track and into the brush to find the hobbits. From there, they could see more guards running toward the group in front of the prisoners’ boxcar, some falling as Aragorn, Hogan, and Legolas fired their Lugers rapidly, others meeting Gimli’s axe or Boromir’s sword. But Legolas ran out of ammunition shortly, and he had no spare clips.

Gandalf, who had just strapped on Glamdring, grabbed Legolas’ bow and knives from Merry, snatched his staff from Pippin, and dashed into the fray. Aragorn and Gimli covered the Elf while he was weaponless. As soon as Gandalf was close enough, though, he tossed the weapons to Legolas before drawing Glamdring and turning on an approaching German.

“ _Hannaid_ ,” Legolas called, pulling on the quiver and drawing a knife just in time to catch another guard.

The fight continued for several minutes. Aragorn ran out of bullets just as Carter and LeBeau arrived with Andúril. The group seemed to be holding their own for a time, but the noise of battle caught the attention of three patrols that happened to be in the area—two of them consisting of Gestapo. They and the guards from the far end of the train arrived at the same time, outnumbering the allies.

Gandalf stepped forward to meet the attackers.

“ _Naur an edraith ammen!_ ” he shouted. “ _Naur dan i Glamhoth!_ ”

Fire burst from his staff and overwhelmed the advancing Germans. The flames vanished almost as quickly as they had appeared, leaving the Istar standing in a circle of scorched grass and surrounded by dead guards.

There was a tense pause, and then suddenly everyone relaxed and the crickets began to chirp again.

“ _Pedo_ ,” Aragorn ordered once he’d caught his breath.

“ _Pan yrch dangen_,” Legolas replied. “ _Pan Gwaith-i-Mellyn godref, ú-dad._ ”

“Whew,” Hogan sighed.

“ _Palan-diro_ ,” said Aragorn. He was taking no chances.

Legolas looked and listened carefully. “ _Ú- hoth_,” he reported at last. “I can sense no one but our friends.”

Carter blew the air out of his cheeks. LeBeau muttered a quick prayer of thanks.

“Okay,” Hogan said, pulling himself together. “Let’s get these bodies into one of the ordnance cars. Carter, Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, Gandalf, you come with me. Boromir and LeBeau, take care of our _mellyn_.”

“ _Oui d’accord_ ,”  LeBeau nodded.

“Was not that fifth car full of explosives?” Legolas asked.

Hogan thought back. “Yes, I think you’re right, Legolas. Let’s get them in there.”

Men, Elf, Dwarf, and wizard worked quickly to clear away the incriminating evidence. Meanwhile, LeBeau shot the lock off the boxcar, and Boromir slid the door open. The pair were almost overwhelmed by the stench of waste and unwashed bodies that greeted them.

The musicians stood in the dark boxcar, clutching their instruments and staring in fear at the figures outside.

“ _Wir sind Freunden_ ,” LeBeau said carefully. “ _Kommen Sie bitte mit uns; wir helfen Ihnen, nach England zu gehen._ ”

“England?” echoed a man hugging a cello, stunned. “ _Ist es wahr?_ ”

“ _Mais certainment!_ ”

The musicians whispered to each other in Yiddish for a moment; then, as one, they let out a cry of joy and relief: “Hallelujah!”

“Quiet!” Boromir whispered urgently.

“Please forgive us,” answered the cellist in halting English. “We are simply overjoyed to be able to taste freedom again.”

“Come quickly, then,” LeBeau ordered.

Silent now, the Jews grabbed the rest of their meager possessions, scrambled down from the boxcar and followed Boromir to the place where Newkirk and Tiger waited anxiously.

“Wot ’appened back there?” Newkirk demanded when Boromir arrived.

“’Tis a long story,” Boromir replied, shaking his head. “But all is well, and here are our _Gilhîni_.”

“Ah, _bon_ ,” sighed Tiger, hurrying to greet the cellist, who was about to lose his grip on his instrument.

“I still cannot believe it,” whispered a flautist, tears of gratitude trickling down her sunken cheeks. “Are we really going to England?”

“Sure as Moses parted the sea, luv,” Newkirk replied with a warm smile. “Come on. We’ll ’ide you until it’s safe.”

Murmuring prayers of thanks under their breath, the musicians continued to follow their rescuers, halting in fear only when Stalag 13 came into view.

“It’s all right,” Tiger assured them quickly. “This is a prisoner of war camp, but you will not be going inside. You will be going underneath.”

“We’ll hide you in our tunnel system,” LeBeau added quickly, noticing the musicians’ alarm.

“David hid underground from Saul,” the cellist murmured, reassuring himself.

“ _Precisement._ It is the same idea.” Inwardly,  LeBeau cursed the _Boche_ pigs who had caused these innocent people to live in such fear.

“Just a mite further, mates,” Newkirk stated encouragingly.

The Jews gathered what remained of their courage and followed Tiger to the tree stump. Whispers of surprise and delight ran through the group as she opened the tunnel entrance, and with renewed hope, they made their way down into the tunnel.

* * *

Hogan’s group finished clearing away the evidence at about the same time the rescue party reached Newkirk and Tiger. Hogan shut the door to the ordnance car with a satisfied sigh.

“Right,” he said. “Let’s start this _angroch_ rolling and get out of here. There could be another patrol any minute.”

Just then, the hobbits, still hiding in the woods, heard someone moving toward them. Frodo, whose senses had been heightened by the Ring and the Morgul blade, pinpointed the noise first.

“It’s a Gestapo patrol,” he hissed. “They’re about a hundred yards away.”

Sam reached for the radio, but Frodo stopped him and shook his head.

Merry and Pippin looked at each other and thought fast. Merry handed Pippin a rifle and pointed to a position a short way behind them, past two conveniently placed trees. Pippin nodded and motioned to Frodo to follow him. Merry then gave Sam one end of the rope and pointed to the left-hand tree, took the other end of the rope, and indicated that he would go to the other tree. Sam glanced at the rope and the trees and nodded in comprehension. Together, they dashed toward the trees and fixed the rope between them as a tripwire.

“ _Glenno!_ ” Merry barked.

Pippin, who had just managed to heft the rifle into an upright position without falling over, fired a burst into the air, lost his balance, and stumbled against Frodo. Then the cousins took off down the embankment, making as much noise as they could and leaving the heavy weapon behind.

As Merry had planned, the outburst caught the attentions of both the group by the train and the patrol. Hogan, Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli came running at once; Carter and Gandalf stayed behind to start the engine and jumped clear of the train as it began to roll down the track again. The patrol charged after Frodo and Pippin, only to be caught by Sam and  Merry’s tripline. Those who fell first were brained by rocks thrown with a hobbit’s deadly aim; Elf, Dwarf, and Men dispatched the rest.

“And that’s that,” Sam sighed, brushing his hands on his trousers when the skirmish was over.

“Merry, that was brilliant,” Pippin beamed as he and Frodo emerged from the trees.

“Yes, indeed, cousin,” Frodo grinned appreciatively. “I’m glad you can think that quickly.”

Hogan surveyed the scene and nodded. “Yes, well done, Merry.”

Merry glowed under the praise.

Carter and Gandalf arrived at that moment. “You guys okay?” Carter panted.

“Aye; thanks to young Merry here, this patrol will spread no word of our night’s work,” Gimli nodded.

“Let us go, then,” Gandalf said. “It should not be long before the _angroch_ reaches the explosives.”

The travelers and their hosts hurriedly packed up the remaining ordnance from the hobbits’ perch. Then Carter and Gandalf led the main group back to camp while Hogan and Aragorn found a ridge from which to watch the explosion.

* * *

Down in the tunnel, Kinch and Tiger had just managed to find bedding for all of the escapees when Hogan’s voice crackled over the radio, “Brôgada to  Gathrod….”

Kinch hurried to the radio. “Go ahead, Brôgada.”

“ _Angroch dangen. Adtolim._”

“ _Maer siniath, Brôgada. Pan gwelyth nedh torech._ Over and out.”

Within minutes, the main part of the team returned; Gandalf reported to Kinch that they had heard thunder most of the way back. About ten minutes after that, Aragorn and Hogan ducked into the shelter of the tunnel.

And as Hogan pulled the tree stump top closed, the clouds that had been threatening them all day burst with a vengeance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot for the life of me find info on the weather in Düsseldorf on June 3, 1944. So I’m assuming that part of the same storm system that battered both England and Normandy and delayed D-Day for a day also affected that part of Germany.
> 
> The idea for how to stop the train came from “Operation Tiger,” “The Gypsy,” and “The Witness.” Of course, it wasn’t easy to correlate Gandalf’s fireworks (listed in _The Fellowship of the Ring_ , “A Long-Expected Party”) to what exists today, so I’ve had to guess.
> 
> * * *
> 
> Translations
> 
>  _Thôl dôl_ – helmet head
> 
>  _Was ist denn? Zwergen?_ – What is that? Dwarfs?
> 
>  _Zwergen oder Kinder, ich weiß nicht._ – Dwarfs or children, I don’t know.
> 
>  _He! Wie heißt euch? Was macht euch hier? Antwortet mir!_ – Hey! What are your names? What are you doing here? Answer me!
> 
>  _Lassen Sie ihnen los, Feldwebel!_ _Kämpfen wir mit Kinder?_ – Let them go, Sergeant! Are we fighting with children?
> 
>  _Oberleutnant Brandybock. Hier brauche ich Ihre Hilfe; ich habe einen Engländer angepackt._ – First Lieutenant Brandybock (that’s the translation of Brandybuck I found on Herr-der-Ringe.de). I need your help here; I’ve caught a British soldier.
> 
>  _Ja, ja, wir kommen, Herr Oberleutnant!_ – Yes, yes, we’re coming, Lieutenant!
> 
>  _Brôgada_ – Papa Bear
> 
>  _Angroch anglenn. Pan maer. Glenno._ – Iron horse (train) approaches. All good. Go.
> 
>  _mellyn_ – friends
> 
>  _Baruk Khazâd! Khazâd ai-mênu!_ – Axes of the Dwarves! The Dwarves are upon you!
> 
>  _Daro_ – Stop
> 
>  _Hannaid_ – Thanks (Neo-Sindarin)
> 
>  _Naur an edraith ammen! Naur dan i Glamhoth!_ – Fire be for saving us! Fire against the din-host (orcs, code for Germans)!
> 
>  _Pedo_ – Speak (report)
> 
>  _Pan yrch dangen. Pan  Gwaith-i-Mellyngodref, ú-dad._ – All orcs (Germans) slain. All fellowship of friends together, not down (unhurt).
> 
>  _Palan-diro_ – Look around (into the distance) 
> 
> _Ú- hoth_ – No enemy host
> 
>  _Wir sind Freunden. Kommen Sie bitte mit uns; wir helfen Ihnen, nach England zu gehen._ – We are friends. Please come with us; we will help you go to England.
> 
>  _Ist es wahr?_ – Is it true?
> 
>  _Gilhîni_ – Star-children (code for Jews)
> 
>  _Gathrod_ – Cave (“Home Plate”)
> 
>  _Angroch dangen. Adtolim._ – Iron horse slain (code for “train destroyed”). We return.
> 
>  _Maer siniath, Brôgada. Pan gwelyth nedh torech._ – (That’s) good news, Papa Bear.  All bouquets (refugees) in tunnel.
> 
> (See the final chapter for the full Sindarin code.)


	9. Navaer! Parting is such sweet sorrow

“Well, Mills,” said Saunders the next morning, “it looks like you were right about it being a… what did you call it?”

“Toad-floater,” Mills drawled. “Y’all got back just in time, Colonel.”

“Yeah, and it’s a mixed blessing,” Hogan sighed. “The rain will make it harder for the Gestapo to track us down, but it’ll also make it a lot harder to get our _Gilhîni_ on their way.”

“I guess it’s up to London now,” Kinch sighed.

Legolas, who was sitting at the table checking his weapons, made a disgusted noise.

“What?” Carter asked.

Legolas didn’t even look up. “I seem to have lost one of my arrows.”

* * *

Hochstetter sat in his staff car and sulked. The torrential rainfall was making it nearly impossible to do anything at the site of the explosion; not only were all of his investigators getting drenched, but the water was also washing away any trace evidence (like fingerprints) that might have remained. A radio detection unit had picked up Underground radio traffic in the area, but the operatives— _probably Papa Bear’s unit_ , he thought; _it’s his style of sabotage_ —were using some new nonsense code that none of his cryptographers understood.

A sudden cry of triumph caught Hochstetter’s attention. He looked up to see one of his sergeants running toward the car, brandishing something wrapped carefully in a plastic bag.

“Look, Herr Major!” the officer said breathlessly as he ducked into the car. “It’s an arrow like the one used to shoot Lueger on Friday. It was in one of the cars, so any fingerprints ought to be preserved.”

A feral grin crossed Hochstetter’s face. “Excellent. I shall take this to Gestapo Headquarters at once for fingerprint analysis.”

The sergeant nodded and went back to the train wreckage. Hochstetter sped away to  Hammelburg and hurried into the forensic lab with the arrow. He waited impatiently while the technicians carefully dusted the shaft for fingerprints and analyzed what they found.

“ _Unglaublich_ ,” breathed the fingerprint analyst.

“What?” Hochstetter demanded.

“These fingerprints… they have patterns that do not match any human pattern!” The analyst motioned for Hochstetter to look at the fingerprints under a magnifying glass.

Hochstetter took one look and swore bitterly.

* * *

“Roger, Mama Bear. Over and out.” Kinch looked up at Hogan with a grin as he shut down the radio. “The Underground wants to use the storm as a cover to get our guests to a safe house in Normandy. DuBois will be here right after dark.”

The cellist, who was sitting on Kinch’s cot, perked up. “We leave tonight?”

“That’s right,” Hogan replied with a smile.

With a shout of praise, the cellist ran off to tell his fellow escapees the good news.

“We should take pictures,” Hogan whispered to Kinch, his smile fading.

Kinch nodded. “These may not be the worst, but they’re certainly bad. And the war crimes prosecutors will want documentation.”

“I’ll have Carter and Newkirk get right on it. And I’m sure LeBeau will want to fix something special to send them off.”

“Did someone mention food?” Pippin asked, poking his head around the corner.

Kinch and Hogan exchanged an amused glance, and Hogan headed up the ladder without saying another word.

* * *

The farewell dinner was a rousing success. Between them, Sam and LeBeau prepared a feast more than ample for the Jews, the Fellowship, and Hogan’s men; the escapees weren’t able to eat much because of having had such a meager diet for so long, but the hobbits finished off what the others left. The flautist and a clarinetist made jokes about it (“Oy vey, _Moshe_ should have such an appetite!”), a sure sign that they were beginning to recover.

After a tearful round of good-byes, the refugees followed Tiger and DuBois out of the tunnel to a truck waiting on the road. Hogan watched through the periscope until they were safely on their way.

Suddenly, the radio began to beep. Kinch hurried to the table and jotted down the message, then rapped out a short reply before handing the clipboard to Hogan.

Hogan let out a low whistle.

“Wha’?” asked Newkirk.

“I’ve been ordered to go to London for a briefing tomorrow night. And Gen. Sullivan wants me to bring our ‘guests’ with me.”

The members of the Fellowship looked at each other.

“Is this wise?” Boromir asked.

“Wise or not, an order is an order,” Hogan sighed, handing the clipboard back to Kinch with a slight nod. “So unless we happen to find a way to get you guys home before tomorrow night, I guess you’re flying out with me.”

“Flying?!” chorused nine voices as Kinch replied to acknowledge the orders.

“In an airplane… er, a flying machine,” Carter hastened to add. “You sit inside of it.”

“I believe someone in Valinor invented a flying boat once,” Gandalf frowned.

“Aye, as did some mariners among the Dúnedain,” Aragorn agreed. “But that was long before Arnor fell.”

Gimli and the hobbits looked distinctly uncomfortable with the idea of flying anywhere.

“London’s a wonderful town, mates,” Newkirk said encouragingly.

“Meanin’ no offense, Mr. Newkirk, but I think we’d really rather go home,” Sam replied.

“Colonel, if they’re leaving tomorrow, could we take some pictures of them tonight?” Carter asked.

“I think that’s a good idea,” Kinch chimed in, taking off his headphones. “That way, if they do go home before you get to London, we’ll have some sort of proof that they were here. Gen. Sullivan and Gen. Jacobs will want _something_ to explain what’s been going on.”

“That’s a good point, Kinch,” Hogan nodded. “Go ahead, Carter.”

* * *

Between preparations for Hogan’s trip to London and keeping both Klink and Schultz from discovering their guests (which proved somewhat tricky, as Schultz came in for lunch and ended up staying for three hours), Hogan and his men had very little time to spend with the Fellowship during the last day of their visit—apart from Carter being shadowed by Merry and Pippin while developing the photographs. So when it came time for the group to leave, the prisoners made sure to give each member of the Fellowship a special goodbye.

Boromir clasped Kinch’s forearm in a warrior’s salute. “I wish you could have met my brother,” he said wistfully. “He would have liked you; he, too, is a scholar, but neither of you lacks valor.”

“Well, it’s a pleasure to have been your brother in arms for a while,” Kinch returned. Then he added with a wink, “But of course, we’ll have to cancel that play now!”

Boromir laughed uproariously.

Newkirk gave Merry and Pippin a deck of playing cards. “It’s been a right pleasure to know you,” he whispered.

“ _Vielen Dank_ ,” the cousins replied, hugging him tightly. All three of them chuckled.

Gandalf whispered something to Carter; the young demolition expert never told anyone what was said, but he glowed for a week afterward.

LeBeau and Sam wrapped up an hour-long conversation about cooking. “ _Adieu, petit ami_,” LeBeau said with a grin, kissed Sam on either cheek, and ruffled the gardener’s hair. “ _Bon chance._ ”

Sam blushed a little, fidgeted with the St. Christopher medal Thomas had given him, and mumbled, “Goodbye, Mr. LeBeau.”

“I’m sorry we didn’t have more time to talk, Kinch,” Frodo apologized, shaking the radio man’s hand. “I wish you could have told me more about Jesus.”

Kinch gently laid a hand on Frodo’s shoulder. “I think you’ll get to know Him someday.”

Marcus Simms, who had just come down the ladder, caught Gimli’s attention. “The boys wanted you to have this,” the black corporal said shyly, handing the dwarf a small tin of coffee.

Gimli started to protest that the prisoners should not part with something so precious when their own supplies were limited by war and imprisonment, but something in Simms’ expression stopped him. Instead, Gimli smiled, “Tell everyone I said thank you.”

“In case we should be separated,” Aragorn told Hogan, “I wish to thank you now for your hospitality. You have proven more than worthy of our trust.”

“And I thank you all for your help,” Hogan replied. “Not only did you make the mission a success and probably save our lives at the time, but rumor has it that your involvement has made it impossible for the Gestapo to track us down.”

Aragorn handed Hogan a small hunting knife. “Just a small token of our appreciation,” he explained. “It has no great virtue, but it is Elven-made.”

Hogan was speechless as he drew the knife from its scabbard and showed it to the other prisoners. The delicate carvings on the hilt and the small runes on the blade made such a simple item breathtakingly beautiful.

“Thank you,” Hogan said at last.

“A star shone on the hour of our meeting,” Legolas stated. “And so it shines on the hour of our parting. Elf-friends I name you all, and may you ever bear the good will of all free peoples.”

“May the Valar protect you,” Gandalf continued in benediction, “and may the One bless you in all your endeavors.”

There being nothing left to say, Hogan tucked his new knife into the pocket of his trench coat and headed up the ladder and out through the tree stump. Mercifully, the rain had let up for the moment, so he didn’t get too wet when he ducked behind the stump to avoid the searchlight.

As soon as the light was a safe distance past the little clearing where the tunnel entrance was, Hogan opened the stump again to let Aragorn out.

There was no one there.

* * *

One by one, the Fellowship climbed the ladder leading out of the emergency tunnel. But rather than finding themselves outside the tree stump, they discovered that whatever wormhole had pulled them out of  Moria had finally pulled them back. Once everyone was through, the hole in the floor closed.

“Well,” said Merry.

“Indeed,” said Gimli.

“By the way, Aragorn,” Boromir began, “I had intended to ask you this earlier, but Gimli and I had a question about Harad….”

* * *

Hogan let the searchlight sweep past again before clambering back down into the tunnel. “Where are they?” he demanded of Kinch before his feet even reached the floor.

“They followed you,” Kinch replied, frowning in confusion. “All nine of them went up that ladder.”

Newkirk frowned also. “Colonel… does that mean….”

“Yep,” Hogan sighed. “I think that’s exactly what it means.”

The prisoners were silent for a moment.

Finally, Carter handed Hogan the pictures of the Fellowship. “I guess it’s a good thing we took these.”

Hogan slipped the pictures into the pocket that held the knife—which, he noted with a bittersweet smile, was still there. “Yeah. Thanks, Carter.”

And with that, he hurried back up the ladder toward the small landing strip where he was to catch his plane.

* * *

Hogan came out of his briefing deep in thought. The fact that D-Day was rapidly approaching and his assignment to hold up the German General Staff through psychological warfare had temporarily taken his mind off of the bizarre events of the previous four days. Indeed, he was already formulating the essentials of his plan as he took his coat off the hook on the wall.

The sound of someone clearing his throat jerked Hogan out of his reverie. There, blocking his passage, were Gen. Jacobs, Gen. Sullivan, Col. Higgins, Col. Meyers, Col. Conlon, and Sgt. Jacobs.

Hogan groaned inwardly.

“Dat was a direct order, Colonel,” Jack stated. “Where are dey?”

Hogan took a deep breath. “They just _vanished_.”

“Vanished?” David echoed skeptically.

“Den how are we to know dey was ever dere?” Spot demanded icily.

Hogan rummaged in the pocket of his coat. As his fingers closed around Aragorn’s gift, he began to murmur:

_A Elbereth Gilthoniel,  
silivren penna míriel  
o menel aglar elenath!  
Na-chaered palan-díriel  
o galadhremmin ennorath,  
Fanuilos, le linnathon  
nef aear, sí nef aearon!_

“What did youse say?” Race asked incredulously.

“Oh, nothing,” Hogan replied nonchalantly as he produced the knife and the photographs.

Les took the knife and examined it with Mush, who let out a low whistle when he saw the workmanship. Jack and David took the photographs and passed each one to Spot and Race.

“Wait,” said Jack, coming upon one especially good picture of Legolas. “Are those ears _pointed_?”

Hogan only smiled.

* * *

Hogan looked from his photograph to the scene in front of him and nodded approvingly.

“Looks good to me,” said Carter.

“ _Magnifique_ ,” agreed LeBeau.

Nearly sixty years after their fateful “chance-meeting” with the Fellowship of the Ring, the former POWs had come to New Zealand to serve as technical advisors for the live-action movies based on J. R. R.  Tolkien’s _The Lord of the Rings_. Each of the five men had read the books cover to cover nearly every year since they were first published, and Hogan especially cherished his signed first editions bearing the inscription “To Brôgada from Beowulf.” (He had taken the occasion to thank Tolkien for his help in devising the Sindarin code.)

“You really think it looks right?” asked Peter Jackson, still insecure with the blocking of the group shot of the Fellowship at the end of the Council of Elrond.

“Chum,” said Newkirk matter-of-factly, “you couldn’t do much better unless you had the lads themselves ’ere.”

“Amazing what they can do with makeup, isn’t it?”  Kinch remarked with a twinkle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tolkien’s prose translation of the Elvish hymn Hogan quotes (from _The Fellowship of the Ring_ , “Many Meetings”), as given in _The Road Goes Ever On_ , is:  
> “O! Elbereth who lit the stars, from glittering crystal slanting falls with light like jewels from heaven on high the glory of the starry host. To lands remote I have looked afar, and now to thee, Fanuilos, bright spirit clothed in ever-white, I here will sing beyond the Sea, beyond the wide and sundering Sea.”
> 
> Hogan's trip to London is based on “D-Day at Stalag 13.” And I must again express my gratitude to Mum’s the Word for her help on this chapter and to my friend Sara for helping me come up with the perfect ending.
> 
> Well, Ecclesiastes says that “The end of a matter is better than its beginning,” and that is most certainly true of this story. I’ve had so much fun with it, but I’m glad to see it finally finished. I hope you’ve enjoyed reading it as much as I have had writing! And I hope you’ll stay tuned for whatever other crazy concoctions I might come up with….


	10. Sindarin Code

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Compiled from information on [Ardalambion](http://www.uib.no/People/hnohf/) and Hiswelókë's Dragon Flame Sindarin dictionary, with help from Mum's the Word; based on the Navajo code developed by the WWII Codetalkers.

English-Sindarin |  Sindarin-English

** English – Sindarin **

**English** |  **Sindarin** |  **Literal Meaning**  
---|---|---  
  
advance/approach/ahead

| 

anglenno

|  approach   
  
affirmative/agree/yes

| 

maer

|  good, useful   
  
all

|  (n)ath  |  all   
pan  |  all   
All rescuees delivered  |  Pan gwelyth annen  |  all bouquet given   
ally  |  mellon  |  friend   
  
ammunition

| 

half

|  seashells   
  
beach

|  falas  |  beach   
behind  |  adel  |  behind   
big/large/great  |  daer  |  big, great   
  
bomb

| 

solch

|  edible root (potato)   
  
cordof

|  apple   
  
casualty – injured

|  dad  |  down   
casualty – dead  |  fern  |  dead, dead person   
cavalry  |  Rohirrim  |  horsemen   
come  |  tolo  |  come   
communication  |  trenarn  |  tale   
  
danger/alert/watchful

|  tiro coth  |  watch enemy   
  
direction

|  uin  |  from the   
o-  |  from   
distance  |  palan  |  afar   
haered  |  remote, distance   
  
East

|  Amrûn  |  East   
eight  |  toloth  |  8   
eleven  |  minig  |  11?   
  
eliminate/destroy

|  degi  |  kill   
enemy/hostile/not friendly  |  coth  |  enemy   
  
estimate/vicinity/about

|  inc  |  guess/idea/notion   
  
evacuate/move out

|  oglenno  |  go from   
  
evil

|  um  |  evil   
fight (n.)  |  dagor  |  battle   
fight (v.)  |  dagro  |  to do battle   
fire – burn  |  naur  |  fire   
  
fire – attack

|  maetha  |  to fight   
  
five

|  leben  |  5   
  
forward/let’s go

|  glenno  |  go   
  
four

|  canad  |  4   
  
free

|  lain  |  free   
  
German (sing.)

|  Thôl dôl  |  helmet head   
  
Germans (pl.)

| 

Yrch

|  orcs   
  
Glamhoth

|  large body of orcs   
Gwathuirim  |  Dunlendings (“shadow people”)   
  
Goldilocks

|  Glorfindel  |  Golden Hair   
  
gun

|  naurgrond  |  fire club   
Home Plate  |  Car  |  House   
Ost  |  Fortress   
Bar  |  Home   
Gathrod  |  Cave   
Jews (escapees)  |  Eruhîni  |  God’s children   
Gilhîni  |  star children   
Gwelyth  |  bouquets   
left  |  heir  |  left   
  
location/spot

|  sad  |  place   
  
Mama Bear

|  Meglinana  |  honey-eater mama   
nine  |  neder  |  9   
negative/no  |  faeg  |  bad   
ú  |  no, not   
  
North

|  Forod  |  North   
objective/goal  |  orod  |  mountain   
  
one

|  min  |  1   
Papa Bear  |  Brôgada  |  bear daddy   
  
railroad

|  angroch men  |  iron horse road   
report  |  pedo  |  speak   
siniath  |  news, tidings   
  
request

|  saes  |  please   
retreat/fall back  |  adel glenno  |  in rear of go   
noro  |  run   
  
right

|  fair  |  right   
  
river

|  sîr  |  river   
seven  |  odo(g)  |  7   
six  |  eneg  |  6   
  
South

|  Harad  |  South   
stop/halt  |  daro  |  halt   
submarine  |  limlug  |  sea serpent   
ten  |  caer  |  10   
  
three

|  neled  |  3   
  
together

|  na  |  with   
godref  |  together   
train  |  angroch  |  iron horse   
Train destroyed  |  Angroch dangen  |  iron horse slain   
tunnel  |  torech  |  hole   
twelve  |  rásat  |  12   
two  |  tad  |  2   
unit/group – Heroes  |  Gweth  |  host, troop   
  
unit/group – Fellowship

| 

Herth

|  household   
unit/group – enemy  |  hoth  |  enemy horde   
  
vicinity/there about

| 

pel

|  fenced field   
  
weapons

|  hathol  |  broadsword   
  
West

|  Annûn  |  West   
  
[](http://sarosefanfic.bravehost.com/hh-lotr8.htm)

**Sindarin-English**

**Sindarin** |  **English** |  **Literal Meaning**  
---|---|---  
adel  |  behind  |  behind   
adel glenno  |  retreat/fall back  |  in rear of go   
Amrûn  | 

East

|  East   
  
anglenno

| 

advance/approach/ahead

|  approach   
angroch  |  train  |  iron horse   
Angroch dangen  |  Train destroyed  |  iron horse slain   
angroch men  | 

railroad

|  iron horse road   
Annûn  | 

West

|  West   
Bar  |  Home Plate  |  Home   
Brôgada  |  Papa Bear  |  bear daddy   
caer  |  ten  |  10   
canad  | 

four

|  4   
Car  |  Home Plate  |  House   
  
cordof

|  bomb  |  apple   
coth  |  enemy/hostile/not friendly  |  enemy   
dad  | 

casualty – injured

|  down   
daer  |  big/large/great  |  big, great   
dagor  |  fight (n.)  |  battle   
dagro  |  fight (v.)  |  to do battle   
daro  |  stop/halt  |  halt   
degi  | 

eliminate/destroy

|  kill   
eneg  |  six  |  6   
Eruhîni  |  Jews (escapees)  |  God’s children   
faeg  |  negative/no  |  bad   
fair  | 

right

|  right   
falas  | 

beach

|  beach   
fern  |  casualty – dead  |  dead, dead person   
Forod  | 

North

|  North   
Gathrod  |  Home Plate  |  Cave   
Gilhîni  |  Jews (escapees)  |  star children   
  
Glamhoth

|  Germans (pl.)  |  large body of orcs   
glenno  | 

forward/let’s go

|  go   
Glorfindel  | 

Goldilocks

|  Golden Hair   
godref  |  together  |  together   
Gwathuirim  |  Germans (pl.)  |  Dunlendings (“shadow people”)   
Gwelyth  |  Jews (escapees)  |  bouquets   
Gweth  |  unit/group – Heroes  |  host, troop   
haered  |  distance  |  remote, distance   
  
half

| 

ammunition

|  seashells   
Harad  | 

South

|  South   
hathol  | 

weapons

|  broadsword   
heir  |  left  |  left   
  
Herth

| 

unit/group – Fellowship

|  household   
hoth  |  unit/group – enemy  |  enemy horde   
inc  | 

estimate/vicinity/about

|  guess/idea/notion   
lain  | 

free

|  free   
leben  | 

five

|  5   
limlug  |  submarine  |  sea serpent   
  
maer

| 

affirmative/agree/yes

|  good, useful   
maetha  | 

fire – attack

|  to fight   
Meglinana  | 

Mama Bear

|  honey-eater mama   
mellon  |  ally  |  friend   
min  | 

one

|  1   
minig  |  eleven  |  11?   
na  | 

together

|  with   
(n)ath  | 

all

|  all   
naur  |  fire – burn  |  fire   
naurgrond  | 

gun

|  fire club   
neder  |  nine  |  9   
neled  | 

three

|  3   
noro  |  retreat/fall back  |  run   
o-  |  direction  |  from   
odo(g)  |  seven  |  7   
oglenno  | 

evacuate/move out

|  go from   
orod  |  objective/goal  |  mountain   
Ost  |  Home Plate  |  Fortress   
palan  |  distance  |  afar   
pan  |  all  |  all   
Pan gwelyth annen  |  All rescuees delivered  |  all bouquet given   
pedo  |  report  |  speak   
  
pel

| 

vicinity/there about

|  fenced field   
rásat  |  twelve  |  12   
Rohirrim  |  cavalry  |  horsemen   
sad  | 

location/spot

|  place   
saes  | 

request

|  please   
siniath  |  report  |  news, tidings   
sîr  | 

river

|  river   
  
solch

| 

bomb

|  edible root (potato)   
tad  |  two  |  2   
tiro coth  | 

danger/alert/watchful

|  watch enemy   
Thôl dôl  | 

German (sing.)

|  helmet head   
tolo  |  come  |  come   
toloth  |  eight  |  8   
torech  |  tunnel  |  hole   
trenarn  |  communication  |  tale   
ú  |  negative/no  |  no, not   
uin  | 

direction

|  from the   
um  | 

evil

|  evil   
  
Yrch

| 

Germans (pl.)

|  orcs   
  
[](http://sarosefanfic.bravehost.com/hh-lotr8.htm)


End file.
